


Captain Aggressively-Whipped: Kick-Ass Warbuddies

by FlyByNightGirl



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Everyone in this has so much sass, M/M, Sam Wilson is a Gift, Steve doesn't shut up about his sex life, The Bitching Fic (TM), This is the most ridiculous thing I've ever written
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-30
Updated: 2016-10-21
Packaged: 2018-07-10 14:08:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 61,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6988087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlyByNightGirl/pseuds/FlyByNightGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Oh god man. Shut up. We’ll save your goddamn butt buddy but I swear to god I better not hear a single damn thing about your ass and that metal arm after, you hear? Or I'm fucking out. Like that. Light switch man. I will find the goddamn door.” </p><p>Steve clapped him on the shoulder, shaking once for emphasis. “I knew you'd understand.”</p><p>He didn’t miss the miserable eye roll up to the sky, but he couldn’t be sure what Sam muttered under his breath, although it did sound suspiciously like <em>you flirt with a guy once and suddenly you’re helping him back to his betrothed</em> and. Well.</p><p>Steve sure knew how to pick good friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. This Is Not Going How Steve Planned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly can't believe I wrote this fucking ridiculous-ass fic I just. (=
> 
> It's so fucking funny, and that's all I have to say for myself. A shit ton of CACW spoilers, and in case you didn't catch it, the abbreviation for this fic is CAW:KAW which really just. sums the entire thing up.
> 
> Everyone forgets Steve Rogers is only in his twenties, so here, remember.
> 
>  
> 
> **In which Sam bitches, deserves better, and Steve Rogers is turned on by everything Bucky does and someone seriously needs to kink-shame his ass, but don't worry, Bucky'll get around to that ass eventually**
> 
>  
> 
> (don't let the first three minutes fool you, I promise this story is. Wild.)
> 
> xx

.::.

“He’s gonna be there, you know.” 

There was so much kindness, consideration, _sympathy_ in the way Sam spoke that sometimes Steve couldn’t believe he’d chanced upon the guy by running. Fate sure had its way sometimes. 

“I know,” he replied, because there wasn’t anything else he could say. This was _Bucky_.

Bucky. Even when he had nothing. 

Bucky. The one who'd been at his side until the day he died, until he’d fallen from that train and left Steve behind with bruises on his collarbone and hips, sketches in his notebook, and fucking nothing else. 

The bruises faded barely hours after Bucky fell, and most the sketchbooks were lost in the war but when Bucky's hand fell from his he took a lot more than that, he took Steve’s entire heart and soul with him. 

"Look," Sam interjected kindly, "whoever he used to be...the guy he is now? I don't think he's the kind you save. He's the kind you stop."

Whoever he used to be. What careful wording, and based on the sob story he'd finally broken down and given Sam an hour ago, it was only fair he guessed. 

The Winter Soldier was the deadliest assassin, a ghost story, a legend. Something to tell little assassin children at night, the silent monster on every horizon. The most beautiful fighter Steve had ever seen. And of course, of course he was Bucky. The Winter Soldier may be the kind you stop, but the person under the mask?

"I don't know if I can do that." Honestly, Steve couldn't imagine. Not in a million years. As torn as he'd been lately about right and wrong, as much as he'd been doubting himself? 

There wasn't a single doubt in his bones now. This was Buck. He'd always made Steve weak - at least at the knees - and the magnitude of everything between them, it was fucking impossible to do anything but reach out and grab the hand that'd slipped from his fingers so long ago. 

"Well, he might not give you a choice," Sam warned, his words a little harsh at the edges, a splash of water to wake up to, a bright burn into the cruel world of reality. But the gentle words he added on stung much more than the idea of Bucky killing him. "He doesn't know you."

Best friends since childhood, Bucky Barnes and Steven Rogers were inseparable on both schoolyard and battlefield. 

He turned his head, looked over to Sam for the first time. And decided, in that moment, he knew exactly what he was going to do. With the most conviction he'd ever spoken, Steve made a single promise to the swirling air of dusk.

"He will." If it took hours, months, years, another lifetime. Bucky would know him. Steve was part of Bucky's soul; there was no way he could lose that part of him forever, it wasn't possible. 

“Steve, man, I get it. Barnes means...a lot. I lost my best friend to the war too, and yeah, I get now that he was. Y’know. More than that.”

If that wasn't the understatement of the year. After his little outburst at Fury earlier Steve had stormed off, blood boiling in his veins and heart pounding so hard in his chest he couldn't believe a half-organ could be so loud and overwhelming. 

Because Bucky’d taken the other half one quiet morning in Brooklyn, getting up from the breakfast table like it was any other Saturday, only that Saturday he circled around the corner between them and simply tipped Steve’s head up in the pale sunlight to press that pouty, crooked mouth to Steve’s and change his entire life forever. 

The four minutes he had to himself in that dirty underground tunnel was the first he'd had alone since Bucky’d turned to him and branded his soul, 

_Who the hell is Bucky?_

The tears welled up before he could stop them, and the fist that crashed into metal had Sam running before Steve’s knees could collapse him all the way to the ground, but even the kind dark hands on him couldn't stop the fall. 

Kinda the same way Steve couldn't stop the love of his life, his best friend, his fiancé-to-be (I promise, Bucky whispered into his skin under the flickering lantern lights, the moment this war is over I'm going down on one knee and we’re gonna live the best goddamn lives together for the rest of forever.) 

(Steve had kissed him so hard for that Bucky was laughing breathlessly by the time they finally broke apart.) 

\--from falling from his fingertips. 

And there in that dirty tunnel he'd shook and shook and confessed it all to Sam, the traded toe tags and the mid-mission kisses and the way Bucky’s eyes lit up when Steve shyly handed him a drawing and the hand he'd have to clap over Bucky’s mouth as he slammed him up against a tree in the woods--

“I'm gonna stop you there,” Sam had insisted. “I think I've got the picture. Vividly.” 

But if he had, if he really had, how could he possibly be standing here on this dam asking Steve to kill his best friend when they met again? 

“Steve, as much as you love him…” A sympathetic look from Sam’s kind face but no matter what he said next, it couldn't possibly change anything. “...he’s _dangerous._ ”

He's not the kind you save. He's the kind you stop. 

A killer. A killer that'd kill them all if he didn't snap out of it. It probably wouldn't help if Steve pointed out that all that badass Bucky’d never had before was...super fucking hot. 

Steve inhaled deeply and sighed, looking pensively out over the water. Sam just didn't get it. This was Buck, turned to 11 yeah, but it was Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers was always gonna be weak at the knees.

“Well. You know what they say, Sam.” Both hands in his pockets, pensive tone still dejected and drifting. “Everybody likes a bad boy.”

Sam blinked, twice, and Steve kept looking morosely out over the water. Right up until Sam blinked again and deadpanned, very seriously, 

“Yeah, not a fucking assassin though, Steve.” 

A tip of his head and Steve glanced his way, all reason and feet-kicking from the days he was younger and argued with Bucky that no, he wasn't gonna collect scrap metal, thank you very much. 

“Sam, c’mon, you can't tell me you didn't see the moment he fell from the sky and literal sparks flew.”

“He _assassin-launched_ the roof to SHOOT US IN THE HEAD then his Metal Fucking Arm TORE UP THE GODDAMN ROAD IN PIECES. Were those the sparks you were talking about?” 

Steve’s mouth screwed to the side, squinting as he debated it but. Actually. 

A little shrug and he made a _well you're not wrong_ face, but good lord, there was no way he was the only one totally star struck awed and vaguely turned on as those metal fingers uncurled from the pavement, long dark hair flying all over the place--

“That's not a _good thing_ , Steve.” He glared lightly at Sam for interrupting his thoughts, but really it just felt like Sam didn't quite get it, he'd never been in love the way the two of them had, no one in the world ever possibly could've been. 

“Buck _is_ a good thing, Sam. He's the only good thing I've got.”

Sam’s mouth popped open in offense and Steve was cringing before the high-pitched shock bit.

“What about me??? You know, best friend over here who lept back into a goddamn war for your sorry ass?”

He had....a really good point.

Steve sucked in a breath, one side of his mouth curling up softly as he gave a final glance at the rushing water below and jogged up to Sam’s side, eyebrows knit in a plea, 

“Sam, believe me I know, and I'm so, so grateful. I really am.” Steve tipped his head, one hand waving explanation as he tried to figure out the simplest way to put it. “But that's just the thing, Buck's always been the one who’s driven me crazy riding my sorry ass--”

“Oh god man. Shut up. We’ll save your goddamn butt buddy but I swear to god I better not hear a single damn thing about your ass and that metal arm after, you hear? Or I'm fucking out. Like that. Light switch man. I will find the goddamn door.” 

Steve clapped him on the shoulder, shaking once for emphasis. “I knew you'd understand.”

He didn’t miss the miserable eye roll up to the sky, but he couldn’t be sure what Sam muttered under his breath, although it did sound suspiciously like _you flirt with a guy once and suddenly you’re helping him back to his betrothed_ and. Well.

Steve sure knew how to pick good friends. 

 

“Did you know?” Sam demanded and Natasha cocked one red eyebrow at the accusation. 

“I knew it had to be something. Nobody rejects that many fantastic dates without a damn good reason. And to be fair, being in love with your dead best friend is a pretty good one.”

“He’s not dead,” Steve pointed out, not looking up from where he was checking the ammunition for the team’s arsenal. “And none of those dates were gonna be fantastic anyways.”

“Well, yeah, they were all girls.”

“I like girls fine,” Steve argued and Sam cut him off before he could go on whatever rant was brewing beneath the knit eyebrows.

“Right, but you like Barnes better,” he filled in and Steve sucked in a breath, head tipping with that knowing look. 

“That’s one way to put it.” 

Yeah, Sam’d heard plenty of other ways already, and he’d only known for about two hours now. He wasn’t exactly looking forward to. Y’know. Two more years of Steve spouting off shit about his rampant and fucking wild sex life in the 1940s, so the sooner they got Barnes back (or, well. Frankly, if it had to go that way, eliminated, but that was a pretty awful fucking thought considering he hadn’t seen Steve this animated or alive since. ever. And based on Natasha’s surprised looks, she hadn’t either) the sooner everything could go back to fucking normal.

“You heard the mouth on him yet?” Sam tipped into Nat’s shoulder and she glanced at Steve, raising both eyebrows this time as she realized that yes, that’s exactly who Sam was talking about. “Dear god. I thought the forties were supposed to be innocent. All goodness and purity and shit.”

Natasha tipped her head in vague agreement, just as the van rolled to a stop. Steve stood, sliding open the door with a resounding thud. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Steve told them, and for about three seconds Sam thought he was talking about all the dirty nonsense from earlier, but then Steve was shoving his helmet over his head and looking back at them innocently as he hooked on the chin strap,

“The forties _were_ incredibly...good.” Quick smile quirked to one side as the blue eyes lit up and there was all that mischief they’d never had the chance to see. “We fucked like rabbits.” 

The van creaked as Steve swung out of it dramatically and Natasha burst into surprised laughter, and okay maybe it was a _little_ funny that everyone’s childhood hero and Pinnacle of Goodness not only spent the war fucking his best friend, but also apparently had zero problems with all of his friends knowing it. 

“See?” Sam demanded, waving one arm at the blonde troublemaker that had already broke into a jog for the nearest SHIELD building. “I told you. I _told you_.”

“Let’s just hope the lovebirds don’t kill each other in the meantime, right?” Natasha called over her shoulder, then she was fitting her facial-changing mask on and Sam shook his head, taking off after Steve. That was a hell of a lot of hope to have. 

And to be completely honest, most of that hope shot straight to hell the moment the Winter Soldier kicked Sam off a fucking helicarrier and _tore his wing off_. 

But, y’know, it wasn’t him that wanted to bone the guy, so long as Steve got out alive that was all that counted. 

If you could count dumped on the side of a river choking and bleeding by the guy Steve couldn’t stop raving about as alive, then at least he got that much. Sam helped the paramedics get Steve on the stretcher, and when they asked him if he wanted a ride to the hospital with them, he nearly got inside. 

But Barnes was the only one strong enough to save Steve, and the only one broken enough to leave him half dead on the side of the river after pulling him out of it. Not to mention he was pretty sure Barnes was also the only one to leave a message like that with 911, the message that alerted them all to where Steve was, and got them there just in time to save his life again. 

And considering that this had all happened inside the past twenty minutes, he couldn’t’ve gotten far. Steve would probably be out for awhile anyways, the least Sam could do was check out the surrounding area for Barnes. 

But see, the soldier who Steve had all the fond memories of, he wasn’t the Winter Soldier, not at this level, and no matter how much he searched, Barnes was gone. Just like the explosion at the bridge, disappeared in a wave of smoke like the ghost he really was. 

At least he tried. At least he looked, at least he could sit at Steve’s bedside in the hospital and tell him, when he woke, that he did everything he could. 

See, he’d known from the day he met Steve that he was a little shit, “If that’s what you wanna call running,” yeah, alright, that’s how it was gonna be. 

But the _on your left_ when Steve woke still made him smile, surprise and a bit of fond curling up at the little shit of a best friend he’d made. 

“Is Bucky--”

“I looked, man. He pulled you out of the river and. Split.”

Steve’s bruised blue eyes looked away, brimming up a bit and Sam sucked in a breath, wondering if Steve’d ever been this broken, even way back then when he was small and whatnot. From the look on his face, probably not, and Sam worked at a decent VA but he was nowhere near equipped for that fallout. 

Jokes. Smiling, that’s what worked with Rogers, that was how they’d get through this, he needed someone to poke and jab and tease and honestly, Sam was better at that, at being Steve’s _friend_ , then he could ever be at being his psychiatrist.

“Hey,” he interjected, a little too soft but Steve still rolled his head, looked over with those sad sad blues that were damn near breaking Sam’s heart. But this was about Steve’s heart, which Sam would do anything in his goddamn power to save. 

“That’s a lot of bruises, man. I thought you said Barnes used to kiss your ass, not kick it.”

The smile curling up Steve’s mouth looked kinda painful, at least half grimace too, but there was a light in his eyes and Sam was gonna count it as a goddamn win. 

“He's always done a bit of both,” Steve offered and Sam wrinkled his nose, shaking his head once as he took in all the implications in the crooked smile. 

“TMI man.” The smile he gave back told Steve he didn’t mean it, and that he was ready for as much TMI as Steve wanted to give that could make this easier for him. If sex jokes and stories about Barnes made it less painful that he’d fucking split like that, Sam could handle all the stories in the world. 

Only he had a feeling it was about a lot more than fucking like rabbits. Because Steve’s bottom lip was trembling and he’d got the love of his life back and lost him all over again all in the same day and. That was a fucking lot to deal with. 

“But you, uh. Wanna talk about what happened up there?” 

“They...they took his brain, from him, but. Sam, I think there’s still a piece of him left, I do, I could see it, I c-could see it, in the. T-tears in his ey...eyes--”

“Hey, hey. Rogers. It’s not over, okay? He’s still out there.” Sam reached across the distance between them, taking Steve’s hand in his and squeezing it lightly. No telling what all Barnes had broke in the process. 

Although jesus christ, by the way Steve was squeezing back his hands were perfectly fine but fuck, _ow_ , Sam’s might not be now. 

“Thanks, Sam. I d-don’t know what I’d do without you.” 

“Crash and burn, buddy. Crash and burn.” 

 

~*~*~

He was on a rooftop with Natasha in Slovakia when the comms went dead, he accidentally dropped his only ammo off ten stories, and the sky decided that moment to open up with pouring rain.

“I told you from the start this was a bad idea,” Natasha called over the rain, trying to wipe the glass of the binoculars with her soaking wet sleeve. 

“I’m full of bad ideas,” Steve shot back, holding up the grainy surveillance photo to check they were at the right abandoned building for the thousandth time, looking for the figure in all black like he could jump right out of the photo into this space with them. “Although this one I like a lot better when he's full of me--”

“Sam wasn't kidding,” Natasha shot him a look and Steve returned it with a smile under the signature blue helmet. She just shook her head. “This is ridiculous. You're ridiculous.”

“I haven't been laid in seventy years and I found out six months ago the best dickrider I know is alive and goddamn gorgeous as ever--”

He would’ve monologued off about the beautiful parallels between their lives, both frozen to land here together in time, and the other beautiful things like the curve of Bucky’s mouth when he laughed and the flush of his chest when Steve bit the inside of his thigh, and a thousand more if Natasha hadn’t taken that moment to interrupt him, because if they’d all learned anything, it was that Steve could and would talk about Bucky Barnes for hours if they let him. 

“If we ever get him back, you two are gonna need a week in that cabin in the middle of nowhere aren't you?” Natasha lifted her head from the binoculars to give him a knowing look and funny, for all the pouring and shittiness of this particular searching mission, talking about it like this, about Bucky like this, just made it that much more real. 

He ignored the _if_ in her question, replacing it with when and letting the corner of his mouth curl, daydreaming of what that could be like, just the two of them with no responsibilities or jobs or sickness or war in the way, just them, alone, in a cabin with nothing to do with each other...

“A week? You highly underestimate the kind of passion that can build up over seventy years apart.” Natasha snorted and Steve almost did too, because frankly they’d both been frozen dead in the cold for seventy years instead of pining, but for as much as he’d missed Bucky since he woke, it made the point just fine. “We’d’ve taken a week during the war if we had it, we’re gonna take a fucking _month_. Hell, maybe two.” 

She shook her head at him but there was a smile on her face like maybe, maybe she understood. She’d at least fight for that cabin for them, he could tell that much. 

And he’d really thought she’d fight for them both, no matter what, but when it came down to it, one phone call kinda turned that entire opinion sideways. 

They didn’t find Bucky that day. Or the next, or the next. 

For the next two years. 

And every day Steve had to wake up and face a world that had Bucky when he didn’t, he lost just a little tiny piece of the hope he’d held so close to his chest. 

At first, it’d been the most sane and _himself_ Steve had felt since 1945. Running off the high of Bucky’s hand on his chest, the look in his eyes, the promise that’d dragged him back to look at Steve with all that horror and _understanding_. 

But the high diminished, and became pretty damn low at times. Lost. 

Sam and Nat still made jokes sometimes, about how Steve’s lovelife had been literally frozen but he still probably saw more action than they had in their entire lives, and at first it was great, the shock on Sam’s face alone had Steve smiling to himself for weeks. It was just so invigorating, the idea that he actually might have Bucky in his arms again. It was enough to light his century-old blood on fire. 

After the year passed, Christmas passed, Buck’s birthday passed, the anniversary of the fight on the bridge passed, it stopped being so funny. And people stopped saying Bucky’s name, because Steve’s heart damn near broke every time somebody did. 

Sam still had feelers out in Europe, they still had protocols in place in case he showed up one day somewhere. Except it’d been a damn long time and all the faith and belief and assurance that they’d find him eventually flickered out like a candle. 

He was gone. 

No one talked about it anymore. 

It was still Steve, and this was still Bucky, so there would always be enough fight left in him that twenty years from now he’d still be looking, still be wishing for the man he loved, that somewhere, somewhere in this gigantic world, was waiting for him. 

It’d been seven months and thirteen days since he last heard Bucky’s name from the day just that one word changed everything all over again. 

 

“You know he knew you.” It caught him so off guard he genuinely had no idea what the fuck Rumlow was talking about for a moment, for the last blessed moment of his sane existence. Then Rumlow clarified and Steve’s life ended neatly with a bow. Or, well, blow. 

“Your pal. Your buddy. Your _Bucky_.” 

Boom crash ting and Steve froze like the stupid ironic 70 years of ice hadn’t been goddamn enough. 

“What’d you say?” He managed, demanded, only it was pure disbelief and no order, but it was the instant knee-jerk reaction from a triangular hammer to his goddamn heart. 

“He remembered you,” Rumlow told him and for some odd reason Steve’s lungs weren’t expanding. “I was there. He got all _weepy_ about it.” 

Now the only thing Steve could do was stare, just stare, he couldn’t think or breathe or process or scream or 

“...til they put his brain back in a blender.” 

A biting, evil, triumphant smile up at him and Steve’s fists were already occupied with Rumlow’s vest, but he wasn’t sure he’d be able to punch him even if they weren’t, because his body wasn’t actually connected to that fancy thing called his brain anymore.

In a blender.

“He wanted you to know something. He said to me, please tell Rogers,” a shaky breath, the quickest pause, but the blender wasn’t kind enough to spare him in the brief moment of silence and the number of possible combinations that could follow _please tell Rogers_ that went through his brain in those two seconds felt like an inhumanly big number. 

But none of them was what Brock said next. 

“--when you gotta go, you gotta go.” Go. Just go, get out of here, and he’d promised he’d never go without Steve, and you know what that sounded like, that sounded like a suicide note and suddenly it all made perfect sense why he’d spent two years searching and could never find a damn thing, it was a hell of a lot easier to hide when you were dead. 

“...and you’re coming with me.”

That didn’t register either, not until Rumlow lifted his hand and Steve saw the button but it was too late, it was far far far too late and the worst part was that he couldn’t even find himself to be that mortified for his own life, just the civilians surrounding them because at least he was following in Bucky’s footsteps one more time.

Only the scream and the explosion came and Steve was still alive - again, what a funny occurrence that kept fucking happening to him, send a plane into the ocean without giving the flashing screaming coordinates over the phone or dismantling all the bombs the way he had with the first one or jumping out with a motherfucking parachute once it was autopilot nosediving, because what was the point in fighting a war when the one he lived for wasn’t living anymore but oh wait, yeah, he didn’t even get to die _then_. 

It wasn’t the ice that saved him this time, it was Wanda, swirling red spinning around all the gold of the explosion and Rumlow’s screaming body and she shoved it up as high in the air as she could but it was too much, everything was too much and the bomb went off anyways. Only it didn’t catch the circle of civilians that’d mostly cleared for the fight, it took out the entire side of a building. 

Her hand shot over her mouth and Steve just stared, because everything in his life was just turned upside down and he...he….

“Sam. We need….fire and rescue. On the south side of the building.” 

Twenty-six people, that was how many died. 

Twenty-six, and none of them were Steve, and none of them were Bucky, because Buck wouldn’t leave him like that. He wouldn’t. Steve knew better. 

Brock was just trying to get to his head, and motherfucking _hell_. 

Had he ever. 

Steve stared blankly at the black screen he’d just shut off and wondered what the hell he let himself consider a victory. 

And how goddamn much he’d almost just lost for fucking nothing. 

It was Wanda who snapped him out of it. If he was beating himself up, for the stupidest fucking mistake, god knows she wasn’t doing okay. And based on what she said after he clicked off her TV, that was the understatement of the year.

But it really was his fault. This one was on him, and for about the worst reason he could ever imagine. 

“I should’ve clocked that bomb long before you ever had to deal with it. Rumlow said _Bucky_ and…all of a sudden I was a 16 year old kid again in Brooklyn.” 

Sixteen year old kid again in Brooklyn. 

Your Bucky. 

When Steve was 16, Bucky was 17. Sixteen was sand between his toes and Bucky’s silver laugh and sketchbooks and salty waves splashing rocks and hands entwining shy over the ocean, then bold as hell as Bucky glanced over their shoulders just in case, leaning over across the sunset to press his mouth to Steve’s cheek as he laughed and scolded about public beaches, just because no one was out here didn’t mean--

Sixteen was the best summer of his life, the summer Bucky finally gathered Steve up in his arms and bent him over backwards from kissing his bruised mouth so hard, sixteen was dizzy with how new it was to press his lips to the pretty mouth of his best friend, how different their fingers entwining meant, laughing sugary kisses and the flowers Bucky picked in the park and brought home to Steve’s hand clapped over his mouth and a red flush down his cheeks and chest and-- 

Sixteen was tiptoes, reaching skyward as two callused hands tipped his head up because Bucky was always taller, Steve was always wrapping two skinny arms around Bucky’s neck, newspaper-stuffed shoes barely scuffing the ground as their noses and foreheads pressed together, inhaling over twin smiles before one of them finally broke, destroying the space between their mouths and lighting off a thousand fireworks as Buck’s wet tongue slipped between his lips, all that seventeen-year-old experience making Steve’s toes curl and his breath cut short enough that sometimes Buck pulled back just as fast, breathless too as worry knit between crystal, a quick apology and some concern about asthma but Steve always just shut him up by pressing their mouths together again, sometimes hard enough to back Bucky into the closest wall and then Bucky was smiling affectionately and nosed Steve’s head to the side to kiss down his neck, make him gasp in the quiet of his room while Sarah was at work, eyes slipping shut as he ran his palms down Bucky’s sides, holding tight as he could since he was too fragile for Buck to do the same and--

Most importantly, sixteen was the first time Bucky pulled Steve down in the sand, rolling them over to whisper against his ear with those sinfully pouty lips, _yours_. 

Your Bucky. 

So really? It was his fault. All of it was his fault. 

Rumlow had said Bucky, _your Bucky_ , and the only thing reverberating in Steve’s empty body was the ghost of the feeling that’d slipped a thousand tingles through his spine, head tipped back and breath stuttering, blue eyes squeezed shut as Bucky kissed down his bare stomach, fingers curling against Steve’s hips tight enough to leave bruises for weeks - his favorite bruises he’d ever gotten - the sun holding them both warm as sparks twisted his stomach and his lips parted around a breathy, barely-believing exhale, 

_Mine_. 

Just one word. 

It only took one word and Steve fell apart. Mine. 

And seventy years later,

Bucky. 

He’d teased Sam about it, he’d teased Natasha, hinted at broken pieces of the life they’d really had together but none of it, not one bit could ever explain that feeling, the number of different ways he’d exhaled that word over his lips, what that name meant to him. 

So yeah, his stomach dropped when he heard it. And people died because of it, because of him and his inability to keep his head from taking a 360 turn sideways and the distraught _”What’d you say?”_ he’d demanded breathlessly as Your Bucky sunk into his bones that couldn’t begin to grasp how fucked he was in one single fucking moment. 

And that was before it sunk in, what Rumlow had actually said. 

Bucky _remembered_ him. After the bridge. Hydra’d wiped him for it. But just that one meeting, it’d done something, it’d affected Bucky deeply enough to remember him after just one call of his name. 

Which could only mean one thing. 

Bucky remembered him now. 

If one call of his name brought him back enough to remember Steve - and motherfucking hell, get _weepy_ about it - there was no way in hell that the promise they’d made each other, the promise that’d shaped Steve’s life, both of their lives--

_to the end of the line_

\--hadn’t jogged something back. 

Maybe everything back. 

But if that was true, why the hell was Bucky gone? Why the hell was Bucky still gone? 

See, Steve had kinda thought a realization like that would be his lowpoint, of y’know, his fucking _life_. 

Then Tony brought the Secretary of State over and his team, his Avengers, his family was being shut down, taken over, split right in half. It was kinda amazing he was sitting in a chair reading through the gigantic booklet of accords and not just. Breaking down crying. 

Bucky probably remembered him, probably had chosen to run from Steve of his own fucking sound mind, and now the one thing he depended on was being yanked from under his feet. 

Then, oh wait, because apparently the universe hated him, it was at that exact moment that he got the worst text of his lifetime. 

_She’s gone. In her sleep_. 

Yeah, Steve was pretty sure his life couldn’t get any worse than this. 

 

….wrong again!

He’d walked Sharon home, to be fucking polite, except that left them standing awkwardly at her elevator and he just wanted to turn on a heel and go but he couldn’t, it’d be rude to just. Leave her there with nothing and she was giving him that _look_ , and fuck his life--

Then Sam called him. You need to see this. 

And that, _that_ was the lowest point of his fucking life. 

“Officials have released a video of the suspect, identified as James Buchanan Barnes, The Winter Soldier. Infamous Hydra Agent responsible for numerous acts of terrorism and political assassinations…”

Well. 

On the bright side, it couldn’t get worse than this. 

Except, y’know, one of his best friends in the world turning on him. Like he said, he’d been so sure she’d fight for them, for him and Bucky when the time came but the time was here and it all changed in a phone call. 

“I know how much Barnes means to you, I really do,” Natasha hushed over the line and Steve could at least give her props that yeah, she and Sam were the closest to getting it. How much Bucky meant. But if she really knew that, she’d know there was no way he could do what she asked next. “Stay home. You’ll only make this worse.”

Which was probably why she said it. Didn’t make it hurt any less that she was warning him to stay away from the only thing in his life he needed more than everything else. But it was still Natasha, so a warning like that could mean a hell of a lot more than just a plea to stay away from complications. 

“Are you saying you’ll arrest me?”

“No,” she huffed and the _of course not_ tone at least made it sting a little less. “But someone will. That’s how it works now.”

He didn’t give a fuck how it worked. Bucky needed him. That’s how it worked. 

“If he’s this far gone, Nat...I should be the one who brings him in.” 

“Why?” 

Like she _didn’t fucking know._ Even with all the dedication aside, the faith Steve had that Bucky was a good fucking person and would never chose this on his own, with the fact that he’d _stopped Bucky once already_ while he was _brainwashed_ aside, all of that, it still came down to this was Bucky, and he was Steve, so it was really fucking simple. 

“Cause I’m the one least likely to die trying.”

His head could be Hydra’s, his body and mind, but his soul was still Steve’s and so far, there was not a single fucking thing that could overrule that, not Hydra and not whoever was making him blow up UN buildings now. 

Bucky wouldn’t kill him. Steve was almost, almost sure that Bucky couldn’t, even if he tried. There was something lodged so deep, behind everything they’d trained into him, deeper than seventy years of torture, that kept Bucky’s hands from squeezing too tight when they closed around his neck. 

Y’know, way back when, Bucky had always moaned something or another about Steve being so deep Buck was pretty sure he was gonna feel it for the rest of his life, permanently branded, and this may not have been exactly what he was talking about at the time, but logic still applied. 

It sure said alot about his skills in bed though, if he managed to break through all that training and brainwashing with just a couple of words - _remember me_. 

Or it could always be that they’d been more in love than Steve’d thought was humanly possible, but, y’know, there was always a chance it was about the sex too. 

They used to have really, _really_ good sex. 

And now that Bucky was confirmed alive, that they had a lead for the first time in two fucking years, there was a chance that really really good sex wasn’t that far out from now either. Yes, of course he wanted to hold Bucky in his arms and kiss him to sleep, but he’d also really like to press their sweaty bodies together in the moonlight, rock up into Bucky’s tight body and soak up his gasps and soft little cries, the broken moans of Steve’s name as he took Buck so fast and hard he could do nothing but jolt and shake and shout--

“She tell you to stay out of it?” Sam’s voice cut through the flashes of memories and Steve blinked, a couple of times, scolding himself internally because if he was gonna get Bucky back, he had to be fucking focused. “Might have a point.” 

Yeah. She might. There was always a chance Steve was wrong about his epiphany, that Bucky didn’t remember and was blowing up buildings under some evil organization’s control, because there was no way in hell Buck’d do that of his own conviction, they had to have found some way to take him away from Steve again. 

Or there was always a chance it wasn’t Buck. Or that he was there because he was trying to stop it. 

But frankly, Steve didn’t care. Bombing the UN or not, it was Bucky. And that meant Steve was gonna save him. 

“He’d do it for me.”

“In 1945, maybe,” Sam shot back and yeah, there was a lot of things they did for each other in 1945, but he hadn’t seen the fucking look on Bucky’s face as Steve told him he’d rather die by Buck’s hand than live without him. “I just wanna make sure we consider all our options. The people who shoot at you usually wind up shootin’ at me.”

Okay, fair. He did put Sam through a lot of shit. 

But it was _Sam_ , he was Steve’s best friend, that role always seemed to go through a lot of shit. Besides, it was his own decision to come along, it was Sam that’d said “When do we start?”

Steve’d offered him a perfectly good out. But hey, he’d signed up for the running around the world to get Bucky back, he’d signed up for the guys shooting at them and the betraying their friends and. Well, he probably hadn’t signed up for Steve ranting about his sex life every ten minutes, but that was part of the job and if Sam wanted all the rest, hey, Steve was sorry about some things but he wasn’t sorry about that. 

Before he could say any of that, or offer Sam one more, “you don’t have to come,” (he’d deny it anyways, Steve knew him well enough by now and to reiterate, he chose _Really Good Best Friends_ ) Sharon walked right up beside them and he never got the chance. 

“Tips have been pouring in since the footage went public. Everybody thinks the Winter Soldier goes to their gym.” 

Steve highly doubted Bucky’d joined a gym. Like. _Highly_ doubted. Not that Buck in modern workout clothes all sweaty and smiling wasn't a nice thought. 

It was a very nice thought, actually. 

“Most of it’s noise,” Sharon continued and Steve was wearing sunglasses so it didn't matter that his eyes had closed for a moment, shooting back open to glance down in surprise as she slid a file his way. “Except this. My boss expects a briefing pretty much now, so that’s all the head start you’re gonna get.” 

“Thank you,” he managed, because she had just saved his life, both their lives, and those two words didn't even begin to grasp what that one file meant to him. But they didn't have time, and he didn't have a way to thank her that would mean enough anyways. 

“And you’re gonna have to hurry. We have orders to shoot on sight.”

Well. It was a really good thing he'd decided to trust the government 0% on this one. 

Shoot on sight? 

Motherfucking _why_? 

He probably shouldn't have said that aloud to Sam twenty minutes later, but he couldn't stop thinking it and God knows Sam had enough opinions about “the guy he is now, the kind you stop.” 

“Uh, Steve. In case you forgot, Barnes is the _deadliest_ assassin in the world. And I personally am terrified of Natasha Romanoff, who's terrified of _him_ , so if that doesn't say enough I don't really know what would.” 

“But it's _Bucky._ He at least deserves a fair trial!”

“Tell that to the country of Wakanda. You know he’s more dangerous than ever, right? If he’s blowing up the goddamn UN? Especially considering that you were supposed to be there, that says a lot for the whole don't-kill-Steve rule.” 

“It was pretty public I wasn’t coming to the signing,” Steve pointed out and Sam paused, looking at him and waiting. Steve raised an eyebrow. 

“...what, no joke about him always coming for you anyways?”

Steve snorted. Jesus, he hadn't even been thinking of that. Well, he was always thinking about that, but he'd been a little caught up in the whole saving his life thing for the moment. 

But hey, Sam brought it up first, so he couldn't even be blamed for it this time. 

“I just...what if. He doesn’t remember me again?”

“You said Rumlow told you he did, after just the bridge fight. There’s no way he doesn’t.” A tip to the side as Sam jostled his shoulder, trying to pull him out of the winding headspace. “C’mon, Rogers. We’re on our way to go save your man, where’s that fire?” 

Fire and flames. The burn of Bucky’s mouth sucking hard on his collarbone, the heat rushing his head as two hand planted on his chest and Bucky’s strong thighs trembled, old lantern flickering by the tent’s door flap as Steve stared open-mouthed and burning up at the gorgeous muscles straining and rocking over him in the firelight. 

“He was always pretty damn hot…” Steve trailed, trying not to shiver from the memory. When it came to that, Sam really had no idea.

“See, there’s the Steve I know!” 

“And hopefully it’s the Bucky I know.” There was a small smile on Sam’s face as Steve turned to him, knitting his eyebrows in sincerity as he swore, “You’re gonna love him Sam, really.”

The smile dropped instantly. 

“Uh. Dude. I doubt it. I mean, last time we met he tore off one of my wings and kicked me to _die_ from an _unsurvivable height_.”

“Forgive and forget, right?” One-sided grin as he nudged Sam’s shoulder, tried to tip his best friend into understanding because that wasn’t _Bucky_ , not really, that was Hydra controlling Buck’s mind and--

“Um...Steve, no.” 

He gave Sam a _really_ look to which both hands went up, offense meter suddenly shot to 3000. “You really expect me to like the guy?? Steve, no!”

“Steve, yes,” he corrected, standing up as the jet’s landing gear extended, looking down at Sam with a serious finger point. “You guys are gonna adore each other, you’re both my best friend, there’s no way you won’t get along.”

“There is a way,” Sam insisted. “A very prominent way of _he tried to kill me, multiple times_. After, y’know, stealing the fucking wheel out of my car and _crashing it_ , then shooting a fucking missile at us and oh, wait, did I forget that he _broke my wings and kicked me off a fucking helicarrier_.”

Steve cut off Sam with an aggrieved sigh, raising both eyebrows to give him the same look he had the first day they met, so that’s how it is? Yes, that’s how it is. 

“Sam. Get over it.” 

“I’m not getting over it!” Sam shouted after him, wrestling into his wing pack. “He could still kill any of us! At any time!”

Steve shook his head fondly, shooting Sam a quick salute and starting the quickest jog of his life to Bucky’s building around the corner and down a block. They’d already discussed plan of infiltration, Wilson was gonna suit up and take the roof, and Steve would go inside, talk Bucky down. 

Well. Here goes, time to go win back the love of his life. 

 

“You on the roof?” Steve checked, tapping a finger over the comm in his ear to make sure it was secure. 

“Rogers that.” Sam sassed and Steve ignored the jab he’d never heard before ever in his whole life ever. 

“Alright. I’m goin’ in.”

“Did you have to word it like that?” Sam complained, huffing “goin’ in” under his breath exasperatedly. Steve was most definitely not smiling victoriously as he swung open the street-level door and cut straight for the stairs, Wilson’s voice coming back over the comms again. 

“Wait. You are the top, right? More importantly, now that Barnes is the most deadly assassin on earth is he still gonna let you bend him over things, I mean. He could literally...snap you in half with just _one_ of his arms.” 

“I've still got muscle mass on him,” Steve pointed out, rounding yet another corner and taking the steps up three at a time as he thought it over and tipped his head in concession. “But it is a good point.”

“Unless he's been bulking up. Not much else to do in Romania, might as well get yourself all strong and whatnot.”

Flashes, of Bucky’s pained smile, a glance Steve’s way over a bloody battlefield. The barely quivering bottom lip as he held his head high and held out two arms for Steve to collapse into, one hand in his hair as Bucky swayed them back and forth and whispered promises about Sarah being in a better place when he knew Buck was just as lost as he was.

Even the day he shipped out. Steve had been so distant, lost. I should be going with you. And Bucky, he’d curled a smile and thrown an arm around Steve’s neck and for a moment, just a moment, they could both pretend it wasn’t the last night they might ever have together. Because he couldn't cry when Bucky was smiling like that, he couldn't. 

“He’s always been strong,” Steve said softly and the groan he got in response was probably deserved. 

“Man, I almost prefer the wacky sex drive to that sappy lovey-dovey shit,” the voice over the comms was complaining but it didn’t sink in, not really, not when this building was, these stairs were, instead. Bucky lived here. Bucky lived here, had climbed these stairs to that door up there and _that_ was finally starting to sink in.

“Well. We have no idea if he even remembers either.” A quick glance around the corner and Steve started up the last flight, heart pounding even faster than his feet. The hallway was so goddamn short. And there it was, looked the exact same as any other fucking door he’d ever seen. And Bucky lived behind it. “Alright. I'm at the door. Do I knock? Do I just…”

“This isn't prom, Rogers.” Yeah, as if they could’ve gone to fucking prom together. They couldn’t even look at each other too long on the streets. But the world didn’t work that way anymore. Now, now, Steve could lean over on national television and kiss the love of his life if he wanted to, now, they could get _married_ , really _married_ , they could-- “Get your ass in there and go claim the ass you haven't shut up about since the Great Depression.”

“That is…” Steve trailed, staring dejectedly at the doorknob. “...wildly true. Wow.” 

Wow was right. 

And here he was. 

“Bucky?”

No answer. Just an empty echo back to him, didn’t seem to bounce off anything at all. He stepped a foot further inside, glancing around the small room. Bucky wasn’t here. 

“Negative on Barnes.” Speaking into the comm was about the only thing keeping him sane right now, forcing himself to stay in mission mode because otherwise he’d lose his goddamn mind. “I’m gonna see if there’s anything that’ll point to where he is. Or his state of mind.”

“Yeah, okay, whatever you tell yourself. You know snooping through your significant other’s stuff while they’re not around is highly frowned upon in this century, Steve.” 

“I’m not _snooping_. Besides. You’re ruining the moment.” 

“He’s not even there!”

“He was, okay? He was, and. Just. Shut up for a minute, okay?”

“...whatever man. You do your weird not-snooping thing and I’ll keep my mouth shut until I see enemy SWAT show, alright?”

“Thank you,” Steve breathed and he could practically hear Sam roll his eyes and shake his head over the line. 

One of the first things he saw was the bed. And not just because that’s where he’d spent literally half his time with Bucky. (Not just for sex, they’d clocked plenty of hours sleeping in each other’s arms; although in the war the balance was probably the other way around.)

No, the biggest shock about the bed was that it wasn’t a bed at all. It was a fucking. Mattress, on the ground, a lone pillow, lone blanket. 

It was about the most depressing sight Steve had seen in his life. 

Then there was the journal. He slid the chocolate bars off carefully, peeking at the brand but he couldn’t read the wrapper and there was no way to tell if it was the kind Buck used to like. Not like it’d matter, right? People’s tastes changed, and the world had changed a lot since 1937 anyways. 

He opened it to the first page. 

The one on the left was blank. The one of the right wasn’t in English. 

_Fuck_. 

Okay, bookmarked page. 

It was a simple, black leatherbound journal with that traditional red cloth bookmark, exactly like the ones they never could’ve afforded way back when but Steve saved up to buy for Bucky when he shipped out anyways. 

He thumbed open to the bookmark and he’d thought he was prepared for anything, he really did, but there was a photograph of himself staring back up at him and Steve’s stomach fucking dropped. 

Bucky had a photo of _him_ , bookmarked. It was kinda fitting, because any page of Steve’s notebook that had a red bookmark in it was gonna be of Bucky’s face too. 

But. More than that. This meant...Bucky remembered him. The love of his life knew him and Steve knew it. He had to. He had to remember Steve. He really, _really_ did, didn't he? 

There was something written under it and he wanted more than anything to look, to see what it was, but that was the moment Sam’s voice cut back over the comms, almost regretful sounding for interrupting. 

“Heads up, Cap. German special forces approaching from the south.” 

“Understood,” he replied, his numbed mission voice echoing off the empty--

No, that wasn’t empty. Suddenly there were things a lot more important than what Bucky’d written under his picture. Because if the sudden pounding in Steve’s chest was telling the truth, there was someone standing behind him and why leaf through a journal when he could turn around and. Ask Bucky. 

He turned. 

But the whole ask thing was gonna be hard when he suddenly couldn’t breathe. There was Bucky Barnes, the love of his life, the one person with such a tight grip on his heart the metal hand looked dim in comparison.

And he was staring breathlessly at Steve, too. Not to mention that. Wow, uh. Yeah, apparently Sam had been right, there wasn’t much else to do in Romania besides workout because Buck was. Fuck, he was twice the size Steve remembered, these broad broad shoulders underneath a bulky jacket and there was no way to tell how much of that was clothing or muscle but Steve was. 

More than willing to take off clothes to find out. 

Although, first of all, they should really, y’know. Get out of here, into safety. And maybe he should check to make sure this wasn’t the brainwashed assassin either, not to mention that he still had no idea why Bucky’d _run from him for two years_ , so. There were going to be a few conversations to be had first. 

Steve inhaled, trying to keep his eyes from sweeping Bucky up and down and failing positively miserably. God that was...a lot of tension in the air. Okay, okay. Speak, Rogers, it’s been two years and all you have is a flabbergasted stare? 

A quick exhale and he finally managed to wrestle his vocal cords back under his control. One simple question, that held a hell of a lot more than it sounded like. 

“Do you know me?”

Bucky swallowed. Steve could feel the pounding heart in his chest jump to his throat. 

“You’re Steve,” he offered and the way his name sounded off Bucky’s tongue was the same it always had, even as he corrected _*your steve_ , in his head. Parted lips, overwhelmed and fuck, Bucky’s tongue. It was a wonder Steve kept his mouth shut long enough for Bucky to continue, slow and shifty and nine kinds of red flagging lies. “I read about you in a museum.” 

And Steve may not know much, but he knew Bucky Barnes, and that’s exactly who was standing in front of him right now. He’d known, from the moment those teary eyes had stared at his and the metal fist lowered on the helicarrier. So there was no way that now, staring at Bucky across this desolate apartment, he could believe Buck only knew _of_ him.

“They’ve set the perimeter,” Sam’s voice warned quietly over the comm and Steve’d never been so grateful for him in his life. As much as he wanted to know everything, back Bucky into a wall and make those wide eyes see nothing but him as he demanded how the asshole could keep them apart for this long when that was _Bucky_ , the best friend, boyfriend, lover that’d kept Steve’s heart beating on the bad days and made it beat out of his chest on the good ones. 

Short. He had to keep this short. Which unfortunately meant no backing Bucky into walls, as enticing as that sounded.

“I know you’re nervous,” he started, and maybe it wasn’t usual for friends to be able to read each other this quickly when they’d been apart for this long but this was Bucky, and Steve still knew every fucking flicker across that face. He just had no idea why the hell Buck would blow up the UN, y’know, small details. “And you have plenty of reason to be.” 

Bucky was staring at him with those wide beautiful eyes. This was the love of his life, that Steve knew inside and out, had memorized more intimately than his own body. He’d have to try harder than _I read about you in a museum_. 

“But you’re lying.”

In his defense, Buck didn’t look all that shocked at being called out. Just more...trepidation. Trepidation that was building into higher and higher tension the longer they both stood staring at each other with all this distance between them.

“I wasn’t in Vienna,” Bucky said and it was all Steve needed to hear to believe him. “I don’t do that anymore.” 

“They’re entering the building,” Sam warned, almost cutting Bucky off and it just wasn’t fair, they didn’t even have time. Steve needed more time, but most importantly, he needed Bucky safe. 

“Well the people that think you did,” (not me) “--are coming here now. And they’re not planning on taking you alive.” 

The urgency in his voice was nowhere near as panicked as he was starting to feel, heart thudding between his ribs, then Buck had to open his stupid precious mouth and say _that_.

“That’s smart.” Axiomatic nod, mouth twisting in distant respect. “Good strategy.” 

Steve wanted to scream. Or maybe punch a fucking wall, or the faces of everyone who’d ever caused Bucky to believe it was a _good fucking idea_ to not even attempt to give him a trial? Who gave a fuck how dangerous Buck was supposed to be, how could--

“They’re on the roof, I’m compromised.” The comm was the only thing keeping him in check right now, that and the frozen feet he’d kept planted since the moment he’d sat Bucky’s journal down. He couldn’t let himself move, not when the gravitational pull was fucking palpable. They were on complete opposite sides of the room and because of it - or maybe despite it - there were a thousand invisible vibrating wires tugging between them and Steve _had_ to stay frozen or else he was gonna powerwalk across the apartment and crash right into Bucky’s arms. 

Bucky though, had no problem walking, gliding right to a shelf to set down a bag, his eyes off of Steve for the first time since he’d arrived but Steve didn’t have that kind of power, kept staring staring staring. Wishing he could find a better way to beg. All he wanted was to scope Bucky up and run to the other side of the planet where no one could ever fucking find them again.

If he’d just listen.

“This doesn’t have to end in a fight, Buck,” Steve tried, pleaded, and Bucky looked so goddamn tired Steve wanted to cry. 

A forlorn expression in his direction and he just. Wanted to kiss that stupid hurt off Bucky’s face, wrap him up in Steve’s arms and--

The glove slid off his hand, black slipping free to silver and suddenly all of Steve’s thoughts cut short as he stared at the metal hand, palm smoothing right into long (fuck) silver fingers, and it looked so different with the sniping gloves the Winter Soldier wore and Steve was staring morbidly, couldn’t take his fucking eyes off the thing, not until Buck’s soft, _exhausted_ voice washed over him again,

“It always ends in a fight.”

And Steve wished he could say that weren’t true. 

“Five seconds,” Sam warned and that wasn’t enough to leap across the space between them and kiss Bucky and honestly, swallowing down the pit in his stomach at the metal hand, the stark inevitable reminder of how much had changed, how much this wasn’t the same body he’d pulled into his arms in the war-- 

Steve wasn’t even sure if Bucky’d let him, let alone if he wanted to, not a single fucking clue about how he felt anymore because he’d been hiding from Steve for two fucking years and. 

He only had five seconds, five seconds guaranteed and if Bucky’d been gone, all this time, really didn’t care about him anymore or whatever fucking reason it was, however much had changed Steve didn’t know he just _didn’t know_ but he only had five seconds and that meant he could only ask one thing, one question he had to know the fucking answer too, because whatever Buck said, denied, lied, would tell him _something_ , even if it wasn’t the truth. 

Five seconds.

“You pulled me from the river,” Steve accused and the flash across Bucky’s expression, crystal shooting up to his from underneath the brim of his baseball cap, he looked so caught out and overwhelmed and it’d been two years living in purgatory, he had a right to fucking know. 

“Why?” he demanded and the look on Bucky’s face was an answer in its own.

He’d had no reason to save Steve’s life, to jump in after the man he was sent to kill but he did, he fucking did and Steve had to fucking know why. 

“I don’t know,” Bucky replied, looking half-terrified and half entirely aware that it was hands-down the least convincing lie he’d ever told Steve and that was saying a fucking lot. 

Those tortured eyes, he looked so beautiful and unsure and Steve’s heart was pounding, his heart was pounding because of the way Bucky was _looking at him_ , like he knew Steve could see straight fucking through him.

Almost like...he wanted Steve to. 

“Three seconds,” Sam warned and for the first time since he’d heard the words _James Buchanan Barnes_ uttered over the television screen, Steve was sure. 

Calm, steady, and the realization tipped off Steve’s tongue with as much sincerity and fire and confidence as he’d ever had in Bucky’s arms. 

“Yes you do,” he told him. 

And the look he got back? 

It was exactly what Steve thought. Buck was looking at him with eyes that were pleading _I love you_ and a mouth that was fucking terrified to say it. 

If they’d had ten more seconds, just ten, he could’ve said it for him. Steve could’ve taken those five steps closer, taken Bucky’s face in his palms and tilted it up and told Bucky the truth the whole truth nothing but the truth, I love you I love you I love you. 

But they didn’t have ten more seconds. 

“Breach, breach!” Sam’s shout broke through and Bucky heard it too, because suddenly the mattress was kicked up, catching the shattering glass and bouncing the hook intended through the window and everything went to fucking hell. 

Someone shouted something in another language outside and based on the look on Bucky’s face he understood it perfectly. And it wasn’t good news, either. 

Dammit. Apparently Steve needed to fucking brush up on his foreign languages.

 

The first smoke bomb crashed inside and he knocked it right back where it came, shield flashing but the second flew in too fast, clattering on the ground and the sudden idea of not being able to see Bucky in three seconds was the most terrifying one he’d had in the past half hour, and he didn’t even know where he got the idea but he tossed the shield on the ground instantly, sealing the bomb inside and when he looked up Bucky was staring at him wide-eyed.

The briefest pause and he wanted to shout _please_ , beg Buck back to his side but before he could so much as open his mouth the windows crashed through. 

There was shattering glass and guns and heartbreak and slamming and it was all happening so fast and the only thing he could try to do was fight back to Bucky’s side, to close the distance between them because he sure as hell didn’t go through all this hell to lose Bucky now. 

Punches and grit teeth and funny how of all things to change, this hadn’t. 

He still didn’t know, if all that tension across the apartment, the careful tiptoeing was because Buck thought of himself as dangerous or because of Steve, of what they had, of the wild love they’d shared for a decade before it’d been ripped from them both, were his eyes cutting away from Steve’s because he was scared or because his heart was beating too fast, Steve had to know, he had to. 

But in fighting to get closer to him all he could see was how violent Bucky is, how hard the punches were throwing and that wasn’t the Buck he knew he had to get a fucking handle on this and he finally _finally_ got back to his side, shouted over the gunfire, lunging for Bucky’s shoulder,

“Buck, stop!” The flailing hand grabbed something solid, or so he thought but suddenly Bucky was ducking, Steve’s fingers clutching uselessly to the hood of his jacket and Bucky swirled perfectly under his arm, twisting _closer_ and that was some serious ballerina spinning bullshit but Steve couldn’t do anything but gape, because suddenly Buck was _right there_ , his forearm caging Bucky’s shoulder and Bucky’s face was so close Steve really really couldn’t breathe.

Like, his lungs just _forgot_ , and he wasn’t fucking asthmatic anymore they didn’t have the goddamn right to do that but his heart was pounding hard from the gunfire anyways and then Buck was right here and. 

And it was there. He hadn’t intended them to land this close this fast - okay who the fuck was he kidding, yes he did, being closer to Bucky was the only thing he ever fucking wanted - and now Bucky’s face was inches from his, a lot more inches than he wanted but it was inches instead of feet and in that moment everything froze, the two of them staring at each other and mere milliseconds stretched into what felt like minutes, as Bucky’s eyes lit on his and the warmth radiating up his arm was enough to light him on fire and his breathing was cut short, eyes flicking down involuntarily to Bucky’s mouth and right back up to his eyes and it was there, it was still there. 

All of it, thick and hot enough to slice with the knives Bucky always carried now, tension built so motherfucking high he could feel the blood pounding in his wrists, neck, chest, and the world was raging in a fight around them but here they were, the two of them again, memory screaming and bodies aching, and Bucky’s shoulders were so much broader than Steve’d ever seen them but it was still those shoulders he’d tucked his forehead against, still this body that Steve had once held tight and rocked up inside--

Hell yeah it was there. Hell _yeah_ Buck remembered, Steve could see it. Feel it. They were inches away and Steve’s heart was thudding and Bucky was staring at him and Steve had never wanted to kiss him more. 

Fuck. They needed to get the fuck outta here right the fuck now. 

He’d come over here to shout something, to tell Buck something because as much as this thing between them - wow, _fuck_ hadn’t changed one fucking bit, Bucky sure had and they couldn’t have more deaths on their fucking ledger right now, not if he was ever gonna pull them outta this. 

“You’re gonna kill someone,” he managed and it was so much weaker than the _Buck, stop_ he shouted but it was the best he fucking had in him. 

And see, he thought he was prepared for anything. It was Buck. 

Right. 

He wasn’t prepared. 

He was nowhere fucking _near_ prepared for Bucky to suddenly drop him, a hard hand on his chest as Buck shoved him right into the ground, legs kicked out from under him and Steve hit so hard it went straight through him, reverberating, a vibration hot and fast enough that the air knocked out of his lungs in a single swift moment and it was all he could do not to fucking moan.

So yeah, he’d always liked it a little rough, and god _damn_ did Bucky know it but this really wasn’t the time, as much of a masterpiece their sexual debut was gonna fucking be after seventy years of being ripped from each other’s arms, there were people trying to _kill them right now._

But there was Bucky, hovering over him and there wasn’t a single fucking thing that could’ve stopped the thrill down Steve’s spine to coil in his stomach and god he was so turned on he couldn’t catch back the breath Bucky’d stolen from him when he slammed him into the ground so fucking hard and jesus christ he was going to hell, he was trying to tell Buck not to kill anyone right now, to turn that scary violence a notch down when really all Steve wanted Bucky to do was nothing but fucking wreck him, slam him into more walls and floors and ruin him, take out all that whirring metallic anger on him and fuck him into every surface available--

And he was 99% sure Buck could see it on him, the sudden shiver as he stared up at Bucky with parted lips and wide eyes that begged Buck to take him right here and fucking now. 

Crystal eyes froze on his and just like that, it all fucking snapped and Steve’s lungs were screaming from not sucking in the air he needed but how could he, when Bucky was looking at him like that.

Middle of a fucking firefight and the flame between them lit so suddenly and so hot it sucked all the oxygen out of the room and everything was smoke and fire and the sparks of Bucky’s eyes on him, heart pounding in his throat behind parted lips begging Buck’s on him. 

Please, just--

And again, for the third time today, Buck was stronger than him, had the ability to keep functioning breathing moving and it was only instincts that had him suddenly ducking to the side, terror lighting up as the metal fist slammed into the wood beside his head, splinters flying and for the split second the fear pulsed through him he really couldn’t tell it apart from the heat pooling in his groin and yep, new low, heart pounding, staring up at Bucky’s jaw clenched tight as he hovered over Steve and grit down at him between teeth he wanted buried in his skin, 

“I’m not gonna kill anyone.” 

It was breathy at the end and Steve died a little. He was fine. This was totally fine. This position was probably the most ridiculous one he’d been in for a fight in his entire life and it wasn’t his fault he reached up, tried in the fray to grab onto Bucky’s arm or something, pull him back down and wrap his legs around Bucky’s waist and turn his moans into Bucky’s mouth instead.

But before he could so much as close fingers around any part of that fucking _muscular_ ass body Bucky was out of reach, gone and off him with his weight disappearing so quick he could feel the empty in his gut and Steve struggled to his feet after him, breathing heavy for a lot of reasons that had nothing to do with the exertion of the fight that hadn’t even broken out that badly yet. 

But his uniform was fitting a little tight below the waist and his head was spinning and Bucky was throwing the backpack he grabbed out the window with all this insane ass fucking strength and before he could get weak-kneed about that - it’d been a long fucking time since he’d been turned on like this, it wasn’t his fucking fault - there was suddenly more guns, more black-masked enemies and Steve’s brain was still tugged to Bucky’s body like fucking gravity but for once that was a really good thing because he was close enough to do something about it. 

Finally screwed on tight enough to think rationally for three fucking seconds, just long enough that when the bullets started for them he spun around, red white and blue shield up to block the rain down on them both. 

And just like two minutes ago the spin brought him so much closer to Buck than he’d anticipated, but this was about saving Buck’s life and that was the one thing that always stood before anything else, even the thrumming in his chest. 

The shield went up and his arm went around Bucky’s shoulders, pulling him into safety behind the metal that’d become such an extension of them both. The move was fast enough that Bucky went with it easy, automatically curling behind the shield with him as his right arm - the exact same fucking arm that he used to tuck around Steve’s neck, drag him in affectionately before tipping his lips to Steve’s temple - swung around Steve’s shoulder. 

And Bucky pulled the both of them in tighter behind the giant circle, Steve’s body dragged closer without the slightest protest, both their arms around each other and it was purely for blocking the bullets, of course, why else would Bucky pull them closer and duck his head but here they were in the briefest moment of safety and they weren’t just close this time. They were touching and wrapped together and this was the closest to a hug he’d gotten since the train fall and the weight of Bucky’s arm on his shoulder was pulling Steve down from the clouds with the realest, most steadying warmth he’d ever felt.

Their faces were right next to each other and everything was slow motion all over again as Steve looked at him wide-eyed and his lips parted entirely of their own accord. 

The two of them hidden behind the shield and how many times had he lifted this white star in the middle of a battle to lean over and peck Bucky on his mouth, ruffle the short hair and get his ass pinched with a lopsided grin then the Commandos were yelling at them to get their shit together, the shield wasn’t big enough to hide the fucking smiles as they pulled away and it wasn’t like they didn’t know _exactly_ what was happening behind that goddamn star. 

How many times? 

The flame was dancing so close and hot he could feel the burn on his skin, flickering as his gaze flicked down involuntarily to Bucky’s mouth, those pouty lips parted in the same disbelieving inhale of a gasp filling Steve’s lungs and when he dragged his eyes back up to Bucky’s, crystal didn’t meet his. 

Bucky was staring at _his_ mouth and Steve’s heart stopped in his chest like a bullet had shot straight through vibranium. 

Oh god, he wanted it. He could feel it, feel it in the weight between them and the tension that hadn’t eased from the moment he’d spun around to see Buck’s wide eyes on him and if there was ever a fucking question about how Buck felt it was answered and checked off with a giant obvious beating heart. 

His tongue darted out to wet his lips subconsciously and he could see the flicker in Bucky’s eyes, still on his fucking mouth and fuck, fuck, his blood was burning so hot it could be Fourth of July, seconds before the fireworks went off because Bucky Barnes looked like he was dying to kiss Steve more than anything in the fucking world. 

Seventy years apart and Steve closed it all in one single breath, twisting half a centimeter and leaning over the space between them, fingers tightening their curl on Buck’s shoulder and Bucky’s eyes shot wide again, overwhelmed and shocked as he’d been earlier and Steve’s lips parted further, tension thrumming so fast and hot the pull to Buck’s pretty mouth was stronger than the pull of gravity to keep both their feet over broken wood and his lips curled around the instinctive call, the exhale before the inhale that’d have them pressed together and pounding after all this time, a single breath around the only word he ever knew when the world was tipping this bright and saturated around him, narrowed down to this single moment, the crescendo before the crash and the exhaling promise, “Buck--”

The word didn’t even have the chance to tip off the edge of his tongue before the metal hand was on his ribs, shooting sparks straight through to his lungs, stopping his fragile swelling heart, gaze finally flicking up to meet his and 

Bucky Barnes shoved him through a fucking wall. 

It didn’t register until he hit the ground, crashing through all that plaster to smack against the cold white tile and Steve’d anticipated falling for Buck all over again today but this really wasn’t what he’d had in fucking mind. 

Ow. Fuck. Jesus, that snap sure as hell broke _something._ Only the groan as he curled up against the raining plaster and broken wood didn’t hurt half as much as the sudden empty ache in his chest did. He’d thought--

Bucky was just about to--

Shoved him through the fucking _wall_.

Well then. 

 

This was not going like Steve planned. 

 

His pride was wounded pretty harshly, because _really_ , was that _necessary_ , Steve’d gotten the point by a simple head shake no, if Bucky didn’t want to kiss him then maybe he SHOULDN’T LOOK AT STEVE LIKE HE WANTED TO EAT HIM ALIVE. 

Even if they hadn’t been about to kiss, shoving him through walls was _always_ rude, and Steve didn’t need Bucky to. Fucking. Protect him or whatever that shit was supposed to be. He was an adult! A full grown adult who’d been fighting a lot tougher shit than German Special Forces Firing Squads over the past four years. He’d fought an alien army, thank you very much, saved New York and DC and the world and Bucky was!! Tossing him out of harm’s way like he was four foot and sick again and Steve did not appreciate that very much. 

He probably would've internally bitched a little longer if the door didn't suddenly break down with a loud crash, several intimidating thuds to follow and as much as he'd like to wallow in his misery if he wanted to ever turn that misery around he had to get up and go kick some ass to save his boyfriend. 

 

See, when Steve was like “don't kill anyone” he was pretty sure Bucky’d been all like “ok.” Only the minute Steve ran panting into the hallway he was met with a fight that didn't exactly fit the little agreement they'd just made. 

Steve swung to Bucky’s side, reaching hands to help and. Bucky blatantly threw some guy down a flight of stairs. 

Steve had to catch said guy, giving Bucky the _are you fucking kidding me_ look that his best friend promptly ignored. 

Then Bucky. Did it again. 

“C’mon man,” Steve scolded and Bucky stared him right in the eye as he jammed his metal elbow back unforgivingly hard into another poor bloke’s nose and probably shattered his fucking skull. 

Steve deepened the are you kidding me and Bucky hardened the _tough shit_ look and kept. Right on fucking people up with cinder blocks and an unbeatable metal arm. 

This was not. Going like Steve planned. 

As hot as it was, why couldn't Buck just be a little more gentle--

Then some asshole German Special Forces guy aimed a gun at Bucky’s face and see, Steve could pick on Buck and complain and bitch about and at him but no one was allowed to fucking aim their guns at Bucky’s pretty face no sir. 

He didn't think, it was all instincts as he just threw the shield. 

It almost beheaded the guy. 

But he'd been about to get Buck--

The clank was loud enough, the man crumpled fast enough for crystal eyes to shoot up to his in surprise, bitchy rage fighting halting a brief moment as Bucky paused and looked up the stair flights at Steve, surprise and the same bitchy _really_ flitting across his features. 

Okay so. Yeah, he'd just almost broken his own rule he'd just made but sue him, there was a gun aimed at Bucky’s _face_ and Steve hadn't even gotten to kiss the damn boy yet. 

He couldn't help it. He was hopeless. 

But if he thought his heart was pounding before, that was nothing compared to the way it lept out of his chest as Bucky suddenly swung over the railing of the stairs and just. 

Dropped. 

Steve’s stomach dropped with him - Jesus fuck, he still had nightmares about Bucky falling and this wasn't fucking helping - and he dove to the side, just in time to see the metal hand close around a banister four flights down, yanking so hard to a stop that it ripped a pained shout out of Bucky's chest and Steve would kick his fucking ass for that dumbass move if it hadn't gotten him at least further out of harm’s way. 

The shout was still echoing, and from above he could see Bucky’s hat had tumbled in the jump and dear lord, he was beautiful, he was so much more beautiful than Steve remembered and he had no idea how that was possible in the least. 

Then the whole bracket of impossibility expanded a little further as Bucky hauled himself up, disappeared out of sight and Steve was really really done with watching Bucky fall away from him. 

He lept over the rail too, dropping down a floor at a time because he wasn't fucking psycho nor was he planning to rip his arm out of socket and echo gruff shouts around the stairwell like Buck did but by the time Steve reached the hallway Bucky was already jumping -- motherfucking _again_ , except this time out of the building entirely and excuse him if he hadn't counted from the outside but he was pretty sure they were way too fucking far up for that. 

Y’know, Steve understood that Bucky was always a fantastic flirt, but this took the whole “playing hard to get” thing _a step_ too far.

Steve grit his teeth and ran after him. Again. Like always. 

Half this adrenaline wasn't even about the thrill of the chase or the fight or Bucky back in sight anymore, half of it was just annoyance and fear over how fucking dumb and reckless he was being and. 

Was this how Buck always felt during the war? Ripping into Steve for jumping off exploding tanks and throwing himself in the line of fire? 

No wonder they'd had a lot of adrenaline-stuffed half-angry half-relieved post mission sex before they even got back to base. 

He, too, would like to slam Bucky into the ground and hiss at him for doing stupid fucking reckless shit and running from the shield before Steve could motherfucking use it to protect them, then then the angry hissing into aggressive kissing and. 

Why was Bucky running and jumping so goddamn fast, yes Steve wanted them both out of here and safe but they fought a hell of a lot better side by side when they weren't _throwing each other through walls._

“Up against walls, Buck,” Steve huffed to himself, finally catching up to the end of the hallway Bucky’d lept out of. “Up against walls, not fucking through them.”

 

Two hands on the edge of the banister, and if his face morphed into horror, followed by extreme distress, that was only fair when there was not only a giant cat throwing Bucky around and threatening to claw his face off, but they were also wrestling in some _very_ compromising positions and that was _his_ Bucky, he didn’t even know who the fuck this other guy was or where the hell he’d come from but no one wrestled Buck in positions like that but _him_ thank you very much he was joining this fight right the fuck now. 

“Sam, south-west rooftop,” Steve finally called over the comms and Sam came flying around the corner in seconds, a better backup and fellow soldier and best friend than Steve ever could’ve asked for. 

“Who’s the hell’s the other guy?”

“I’m about to find out.” 

Sam made a quiet little noise of frustration but came diving after Steve anyways, that just-in-case-Steve-fell move but honestly, Steve wasn’t sure Sam was close enough if he missed anyways. 

On the bright side, he didn’t miss. 

On the not so bright side, he didn’t get the chance to find a single fucking thing out about whoever the hell the other guy was because he and Buck just took off and here was Steve still just running his ass off and huffing about how this was not how this was supposed to go, how much running was he goddamn gonna have to--

The edge of the building came up and did they stop, no, hell no, what were roofs for but to jump off, apparently. He reached the edge just as Buck landed on the white thin-ass ledge five floors below, doing more ballerina shit with his feet as he landed silent as hell on his fucking tiptoes in _those_ shoes when Steve couldn’t even fucking run in Vans. 

Then this cat asshole was clawing up concrete on the loudly screeching skid down the wall after Buck and landed all graceful and shit like he weighed twenty-pounds, two pretty delicate gentle drops and they were both racing again. 

Steve barreled over the side and landed hard with a clunk, rolling on the shield about as opposite from assassin warrior grace as he could get but he was keeping up, so what the fuck ever, right?

Although he wouldn’t be able to keep up with Buck running, not enough, he’d learned that much from the Winter Soldier. Steve’s serum was stronger but the control Bucky’d had over his body - apparently still had, Jesus, they were going fast, Steve was gonna have to get creative to get close enough.

Well, throwing himself on the nearest cop car and kicking out the broken windshield to hijack was nowhere near the creative he thought he was gonna have to go for, at this point it was just slam on the gas pedal and soar fucking fast enough to catch Buck before the black cat--

Did that _thing_ just jump on his _car_.

“Sam, I can’t shake this guy.”

“Right behind you.”

If anybody could get the cat off their tail it was Sam, and Steve made a mental note to bake the guy an entire cake when this was over. 

Then he was right behind Buck, finally, even if it felt a little ridiculous that he’d outran all of them after all this time, that they were all in _cars_ and couldn’t pin him down. It wasn’t like Steve had forgotten about the whole deadliest assassin thing but it was a whole other world to see it in action. Like seriously, you’d think this many cars could catch one guy on foot, right? 

Steve’s boot had the pedal to the fucking metal and finally finally, the metal he was looking for flashed into sight and there, he knew he’d catch up eventually, Buck couldn’t just run for the rest of Romania and. 

Why was he stopping, what--

The bike was loud enough that he heard it soaring closer, close enough that it was gonna reach Buck just before Steve’s stolen SUV would, which would normally be disheartening but today, that little twist of fate left Steve in the fucking prime, front row seat to the most beautiful spectacle of his life. 

Feet quick-stepping to a halt in the same moves he’d used as a dancer back in the day, made Steve choke on his drink from across the gold-lit dance hall as crystal eyes caught his but if he thought that was breathless, then, that was motherfucking nothing to this.

The metal hand grabbed the motorcycle’s handle, rider shoved off and flying unceremoniously but Steve didn’t even see that part, all he could see was Bucky, throwing the bike in the air with all of its speeding momentum, metal still in the perfect hold as it whipped around, back tire flying and skidding on nothing at all, 

Slow motion and the 180 was nowhere near the ground when Bucky’s leg slid perfectly over the side, straddling the rumbling bike in mid-air as it flipped, perfectly timed spin and dark hair flying, soaring even further than the motorcycle did, both hands closing around the handlebars then the wheels crashed down and tires caught, shooting forward instantly with a low rumble and Bucky was off, vehicle secured and road disappearing beneath him and. 

Steve was so turned on he couldn’t breathe. 

He would’ve crashed the car, if there’d been anything to crash into.

It took a couple seconds before he realized he chest was so tight it physically _hurt_ and fuck, _oxygen_ \- although frankly, these uniform pants were a hell of a lot tighter than his lungs right now and that was saying. A lot. 

Oxygen, oxygen, he had to _inhale_ \--

Finally Steve broke over a gasp, a sharp pained one that filled his lungs right back up and nearly made his head spin woozy but fuck, he had to get a grip, how was he supposed to function but dear lord, that grip, he’d straddled it in mid-fucking _-air_ \--

The next noise he made was a choking sound and if Sam wasn’t worried before, he sure as hell was now.

“Steve? Steve, can you hear me? Steve, are you alright?” The comm in his ear couldn’t give him any bit of fucking solace now. 

“No,” he whimpered and Sam hadn’t _seen that_ , god _fuck_ , how could Steve ever possibly fucking explain? 

“Are you bleeding? Did you get shot?” The concerned voice demanded and. Well. His heart wasn’t beating and all the blood in his body had gone straight to his pants but he was pretty sure that wasn’t what Sam meant. 

“Holy fuck. He's…” Another choked inhale and Steve forced himself to keep breathing, hands gripping the steering wheel so tight he’d already left the imprint of his hands. “He's gonna kill me…”

“That's what I've been trying to tell you!!” Sam interjected loudly and Steve just shook his head once, lips still parted but he couldn’t close his mouth from when it’d dropped, the rest of his sentence rolling off the tongue that really really wanted to be on all that heated skin right now.

“--he's so motherfucking _hot_. Jesus Christ, did you see that motorcycle flip, and god, those _thighs_ , **fuck** , he straddled it fuckin’ mid _air_ , I can't believe that's the skinny soldier I used to bend over in the barracks--”

“Rogers! Focus! This is not focusing!”

How the hell was he supposed to _focus_ \--

“We are in the middle of a life or death battle here and I, for one, am looking forward to making it out on the other side and that means you have to _keep your shit_ together, man.”

Fuck, Sam was right, if he ever wanted to chance to get straddled with that kind of intensity, they had to get out of this car chase, which meant he had to get his head in the game. 

Mmm, fuck, but all he could see was that fucking flip on replay as the sound of the bike drew closer and finally he cut lanes over and Buck was in sight again, a tangle of wrestling black then Buck was kicking up and the cat when flying, motorcycle tipping to the side and Steve’s breath cut short in his throat again.

Then the metal hand was gripping the road, balancing the bike with a rain of sparks flying as he righted himself against the pavement and Steve groaned low, knocking his head back against the headrest because _jesus Buck, not helping_. The SUV shuddered in complaint as he slammed his foot down harder on the pedal and Steve couldn’t help but whimper softly in agreement. 

“ _Fuck_ , Sam, _Sam_.” 

“What, Steve, what, this better be goddamn important--”

“I need to catch him, fuck. Right. Fucking. Now. He knows me, there’s a chance he still wants me, he had a _photo of me_ in his notebook, Sam. It was bookmarked, a photo of _me_ \--”

So maybe he was babbling in the middle of a very intense battle but Sam’s sarcastic reply was still a little much. 

“Did he draw hearts on it?” Sam drawled, entirely flat and Steve tipped his head, thinking back and deflating a little.

“Not that one but I bet you--”

“Fucking hell, Steve. You wanna catch your boyfriend or not? Cause I’m kinda. Oof, currently attempting to help you with that, you asshole. Fuck, that goddamn cat--”

“We're not technically dating anymore,” Steve sighed, unable to tear his eyes away from the speeding bike up ahead, “Although. I mean we never broke up either--”

“Steve!”

“Yes! Okay! I'm paying attention! Shit, shit _bomb--_ ”

The explosion came faster than Steve the first time Bucky’d ridden him into oblivion and he wished he could say that was the furthest thing from his mind as the SUV suddenly flipped up in the air but it wasn’t, it really really wasn’t. 

He still had enough of a fighting brain though, to leap out the car door as it kicked up, landing hard on the pavement and taking off, running as fucking fast as he could before the gigantic rolling tin of a car crushed him, plus bonus, he was running in Bucky’s direction, who was on the ground now, motorcycle of sweet death skidded off to the side. 

And there was that fucking _cat_ , who was somehow still here and about to pounce on Bucky but _no_ , he was not allowed, _my Bucky_ and that was the only thing on his lips as Steve propelled with all of the momentum from the explosion, car, his pounding heart, how turned on he’d been earlier and fucking side-tackled that motherfucker. 

That motherfucker who turned out to be the king of Wakanda. Would you look at that. 

Steve had one hand low-key soccer-moming Buck and it took a hell of a lot of effort not to put his entire body in front of Buck’s, but then he couldn’t protect him from behind and he was pretty sure everyone got the message by this point. If the glares weren’t quite doing it. 

The red and blues were flashing, Rhodey landing down with a clank and a snarky comment, calling him Cap and a criminal and he could feel Bucky processing everything, that that was one of Steve’s friends arresting them, you could tell that from the disappointment in Rhodes’ voice alone but there wasn’t a single flicker across the face beside him. 

Nothing, besides resignation. And fuck, Steve was sorry, but Bucky was alive and right here at his side so honestly, he was. Not really that sorry. 

Then they. Shoved Bucky to his knees (wasn't thinkin' it) and that was so fucking unnecessarily rough and Steve bristled, but Buck just went with it and that was so so heartbreaking but it’d be easier for them both if he just went with it too and. 

They separated them, which Steve knew would fucking happen, but he also knew there wasn’t anything that was stopping him from getting back to Bucky’s side the second he needed to be. If they were gonna let the task force handle this, god knows they wouldn’t kill him now that Steve was here. 

Steve was here, and pissed, but Buck was alive and okay and in the car in front of them so. He could breathe. 

He could finally breathe. 

“So. You like cats.”

“Sam,” Steve scolded, like he hadn’t just said some of the most ridiculous things in his life twenty minutes ago.

“What, dude shows up dressed like a cat, you don’t wanna know more?” Sam snarked back and yes, Steve wanted to know more, obviously, the guy was trying to fucking kill Bucky, he wanted to know more but this was the king of Wakanda, not even _he_ would start that conversation with so. you like cats. 

“...your suit. Vibranium?” He asked instead, because he could be a polite motherfucker when other people were involved Sam, thank you very much. 

“The blank panther has been a protector of Wakanda for generations. A mantle passed from warrior to warrior.” T’Challa’s voice settled from distant to a tinge of emotion, deep sincere raw emotion underneath the peaceful exterior and they were all. Seriously fucked. 

“And now because your friend murdered my father--”

Sam snorted quietly at the word friend, not loud enough for anyone but him to hear and Steve barely just managed not to turn around and strangle him, this was not the fucking time, Samuel.

“...I also wear the mantle of king.” How was it that Buck managed, of all people to piss off, to get under the skin of one of the most powerful people on the goddamn planet? Could Steve just have a break for...one moment. “So I ask you, as both warrior and king, how long do you think you can keep your friend safe from me?”

Yeah. They were fucked. Not an enemy he wanted to make, but Steve didn’t take too kindly to threats to Buck’s well-being and in all honesty of the question? He’d keep Bucky safe as long as he was fucking alive. And he didn’t give a damn what that meant, or the nations he’d piss off doing it. 

The jaw clicking in anger as he looked ahead was his only response, and the rest of the car ride could’ve been in still, surface-respectful low-key raging silence if Sam Wilson hadn’t opened his big mouth. 

“They’re not exactly friends,” Sam piped up and god, if this was payback for earlier this was so fucking unnecessary. That flat-sassy full-on-done tone hadn’t dropped an ounce from the _so you like cats_ as Wilson shot Steve a look and raised his voice over the tense silence, “I think the word you’re looking for is star-crossed lovers.” 

Alright, that was enough of that. He whipped around in his seat to glare at Sam because maybe he was wrong, and hadn’t, y’know, fought in wars his entire life but in his experience you usually don’t give mortal enemies _ammo like that_ , what the fuck did Sam think he was doi--

“I don’t care,” T’Challa replied, not even bothering to turn to them, still staring straight ahead with that deadly stillness. “Whatever he is, soon he’ll no longer be breathing.” 

Steve whipped around in his seat again, to glare at T’Challa this time, and somebody in the front finally piped up - “Hey! Settle down back there! There’s a reason you’re all in different rows, don’t make us pull out the cuffs.” 

Then Steve was left to cross his arms over his chest and most definitely not angrily pout the entire time. 

But jeez, he really did feel like a teen all over again, him and Sam standing just inside the task-force doors with their leather jackets and lame t-shirts, arms crossed over their chests and complaining about losing their stuff like two rebels who’d gotten busted for spray-painting the side of the school, just two kids while Master Assassin Mature Adult Natasha Romanoff shot them a pretty smile over her fancy shoulder,

“Technically the shield is government property. Wings too,” and he and Sam just shook their heads, totally out of place as Tony followed her, both of them Authority and Well-dressed and Professional, making him and Sam look that much more like random bandits with tousled hair.

“That’s cold,” Sam shook his head and Tony gave them that smile, calling over his shoulder triumphantly,

“Warmer than prison!”

They didn’t deserve this shit. They were Full Grown Adults making Good Ass Decisions, and just because they didn’t agree with the government’s totally irrational - not to mention unconstitutional - refusal to give Bucky a fair trial, didn’t mean they were just some dumb rebellious kids. 

Well. It was more like Steve refused to let the government fuck them over when Bucky was on the line - and now Wanda too, he’d almost fucking signed the thing before Tony slipped and he couldn’t _believe_ they dragged her into this nonsense - and Sam followed him with fucking loyal-ass exasperated groans and rolled eyes as he strapped on the wings and jumped after Steve into one more fight. 

And yeah, Nat had very helpfully pointed out that this was what worse looked like, but Steve still meant the instant response he’d shot back, because it was the only thing that counted. 

He’s alive. 

It just about broke his heart, stepping out of the van earlier to look over at Buck in that ridiculous cage. (And that was before he found out about the electric shocks they were sending through it at intervals to keep him weak.) 

But Bucky just looked at him and glanced away, down, that terrible resignation that was killing Steve to watch. Bucky didn’t deserve that, he didn’t deserve that and he had to stop looking like he thought he did, there was no _good strategy_ about this. 

It wasn’t fair. 

He was so morose and beautiful, hair tucked behind one ear and Steve just wanted to run over to the cage, rip open the door and pull him free from that chair, hold Bucky in his arms and run his fingers through that beautiful hair and kiss his melancholy face until Buck forgot all about the things he thought he deserved that were anything less. 

The expression on Buck’s face hadn’t changed any since they’d shoved them in this glass room they’d insisted wasn’t a cell but sure as hell looked like one. Well, in comparison to Buck’s, it was a castle but they were sending a psychologist in to talk with Bucky and that was good, it would be good for him to talk through things and explain everything, right? 

Even if they weren’t allowed to listen. Steve stared at the screens from afar, hating the silence, the stupid monitor their screen was on that didn’t have anything to do with Bucky and he therefore didn’t care. 

Then Sharon came in the room, handed Sam a receipt--

“Bird costume?” He gave her the most done, incredulous look he’d had yet today and that was saying a lot. 

“I didn’t write it,” she shot back and Sam shook his head, glaring at the slip of paper. But suddenly their gear was the last thing from his mind because Sharon reached over, pressed a button. The monitor flipped to the footage of Bucky and Steve turned to her with wide-eyes, lips parting but before he could offer a confused thank you, she nodded solemnly at him, like she already knew. 

How much exactly had Aunt Peggy told her? 

“I’m not here to judge you. I’m just going to ask you some questions. Do you know where you are, James?” The psychologist sounded pretty rational, even if Steve had a super bad feeling about this, but. There wasn’t much he could do but watch it play out right now.

“I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me, James,” the man insisted and Steve was mentally preparing himself for whatever horrors Bucky was gonna spill already, but the next words out of his mouth were so fucking simple and Steve was so un-fucking-prepared for them.

“My name is Bucky,” he told the man, gruff and kinda pissy but entirely serious and Steve’s heart dropped through his stomach right to his feet. Buck. Bucky, who’d screamed at him like a banshee when Steve’d promised, _your name is James Buchanan Barnes._

My name is Bucky. 

He _remembered_. Really, truly, it was him. All him. The love of Steve’s life was sitting in that chair and if he was staring hopefully up at the screen with a lifetime of emotions in his eyes, so be it. Even if Sam called him on it inside of like. Seconds. 

“Just that one thing. That one thing, and you’re swooning.”

“Shut up,” Steve muttered uselessly, not bothering to turn around. He had no idea how Sam’d even known he was swooning up at the screen, but it was Sam, so it wasn’t like Steve was surprised. Besides, he did unfortunately get the brunt of basically all of Steve’s whining about Buck. 

Sharon was looking between them weirdly in his peripherals and Steve was pretty sure she had no idea what Sam was talking about and by this point he knew that she was on their side by now, had kinda adopted Peggy’s _I’ll Help You Save Your Boyfriend_ look but he still didn’t know if she knew about. Y’know. 

_Them_. 

As in the bond they’d shared that’d been about a lot more than childhood friendship and war comradery. More like childhood sweethearts and warbuddies who fought for each other and made out while things exploded behind them--

Either way, the moment shit went south, she pointed them right to Bucky and really, he’d have to thank her for all this some day, he really had to figure out a good way how, they kinda owed her the world. 

But, because apparently the universe hated him and nothing went their way, shit-going-south went a hell of a lot more south than he thought because Bucky wasn’t Buck, Bucky was beating up Sam and throwing him into the metal cage and if Sam wasn’t bitching about him before--

Then Bucky was beating _him_ up and Steve didn’t have time to try to trigger him back when he was trying to protect his own life from the most dangerous assassin on earth because wow, fuck, Bucky was pulling his punches before this. 

As much as the kicks were terrifying and the flying hair was still beautiful and the punches were bruising and too close, they had an even bigger problem and that was that Not-Bucky didn’t know him, or maybe didn’t look long enough to care, because one second they were fighting and the next Steve was being shoved down an elevator shaft so. 

For the third time today, this really wasn’t going like Steve planned.

 

See, the first thing he thought once he hauled himself up off the bottom of the elevator shaft - not including _please god don’t let anyone try to access the basement right now_ \- was that if he was gonna trigger Buck back, he needed to play every single card he had. 

Last time, he’d snuck into the damn Smithsonian just to get back his old suit on the off chance it would trigger Bucky’s memories, the familiar red white and blue. 

But it wasn’t like he had access to his uniform right now, and the only other thing Bucky’d seen him in day in and day out was his goddamn birthday suit. So Steve squinted up at the wires lining the stupid hole he was in and seriously debated taking off his shirt. 

Based on the countless memories of Buck’s eyes, fingertips, tongue tracing down his chest he dare say it’d be pretty effective, and if it weren’t for half the Avengers already thinking he was outta his fucking mind, he might’ve done it. 

Instead Steve shouldered off his jacket, dirty white tshirt beneath stained to hell and at least that would be familiar to Buck. Besides, bare skin meant more sweat and that’d make it harder to climb these damn wires and Steve couldn’t believe he was climbing fucking elevator cables to save Buck now, but at the same this wasn’t the craziest thing he’d done to get that beautiful boy back at his side. 

However, bench-pressing a helicopter might be. 

By the time he burst out onto the roof to see Bucky climbing aggressively into the aircraft - why was that hot, he honestly needed to psychologically evaluate the things he found so fucking hot - it was too late to rip off the shirt, he just shouted the name he’d screamed a thousand times, ran straight for the helicopter as it lifted from the pad and threatened to take his entire heart and soul with it. 

It was remarkable he could leap high enough to grab the damn thing, but he did. He did, he grabbed the metal landing bars with all the passion he’d been dying to grab Bucky with, all the promises of never letting go he meant in his fucking soul. 

Swinging feet and the spinning propeller actually lowered, his weight and the blessed serum was enough to drag it barely out of the sky, to pull down to his knees and Steve was skidding over concrete, straining against the beating whipping wheel, still trying to drag Buck away from him. 

The edge of the helicopter pad came unfairly soon and Steve was thinking fast enough on his feet to jump down to the grate, one hand darting out to grab onto the metal bar surrounding the top of the building the bird was trying to tear him off of, but no matter what happened, Steve wasn’t letting go. Not of that helicopter. 

Not of Bucky. 

Never ever ever ever again. Ever. 

He’d done that once, off a train, and he still wasn’t over it seventy years later so yeah no, he’d let the damn thing tear him in half before he let go of Buck again. 

And jeez, his fucking arms, it sure felt like it was gonna split him right down the seam, he was gonna die here keeping the helicarrier from lifting off to save the love of his life from eternally running from his outstretched arms but. While he was here. 

First of all, he really should've taken off the shirt.

Second of all, he might as well _attempt_ to trigger Buck back while he had his attention, right? It wasn’t like he was letting this fucking helicopter take off without him, and his crazy ex-boyfriend assassin was triggered back in assassin mode so what other options could that possibly leave him with but to bench press the helicopter?

Okay, it was a fucking ridiculous-ass idea, but you wanna know the even more ridiculous part?

It _worked_.

Steve flexed his arms (which were already strained to motherfucking hell), one hand flipped under, bicep bulging as the other pulled in strong, taut, and just like always, Buck came for him so fast Steve was barely prepared enough to dodge the swinging helicopter blades. 

He didn’t miss the look on Bucky’s face though, that foreign, open-mouthed desire that was more animalistic than any of the refined teasing he did when he wasn’t being a psycho assassin. Steve was totally fine. This was totally fine. He had everything under complete control.

Dodging the deadly spinning propellers the shock on his face was half adrenaline rush from the blade that’d almost just beheaded him and the rest was all he couldn’t believe just the arms were enough, even in Winter Soldier Terrifying Mode there was something in Bucky that had him turning around and god, yes, it didn’t matter that Bucky wasn’t Bucky right now, he still came back for Steve. 

But despite all the distractions and swimming thoughts - Sam, be proud - he somehow did focus enough to keep his head attached to his shoulders, ducking and rolling just in time for the helicopter cockpit to swing up beside him, skid to a screeching halt and Steve’s arms were motherfucking aching but he pushed himself up, was headed straight for that glass when Bucky beat him to it. 

One second he was peering worried behind the cracked, confusing reflection and the next something shattered and Bucky’s hand was closed around his throat. 

Once upon a time, a long time ago, they’d been in this same position, and surprisingly, and quite disappointingly, it’d had nothing to do with sex either. 

Just metallic fingers attempting to choke him to death as the sharp whirr suddenly hauled him in, crystal eyes burning over the top of the Winter Soldier mask that first fight on the bridge, close and intimate and terrifying and yeah, he’d been in a hell of a lot of misplaced awe then, but that was nothin’ compared to the waves rocking through his body now. 

Okay, he was gonna just say this now. Somebody needed to kink shame his ass, now, because this had gotten so far out of hand he was damn kink-shaming himself at this point but. 

Jesus christ. 

He was going to hell. 

He was going to hell and he was damn well gonna enjoy the trip if he got to stare up close at those devilish eyes, the grit teeth and pure, raw, force-of-nature anger that couldn’t be anything less than a goddamn hurricane, sweeping Steve in on a tumbling scream instead of sweeping him off his feet, but with Buck holding him this tight and close and intimate, he... 

The heat between them was this palpable thing, thudding right along with the choking pulse of his weak breaths around the metal pressed up against his esophagus and he was so dizzy with everything he couldn’t help but be dizzy with want too, held close terrifyingly tight and so goddamn _breakable_ when he’d been anything but for so long and _fuck_ , all he wanted was for Bucky to goddamn shatter him--

Was it so awful, to want to fall apart under such strong hands when he’d had to be nothing but strong for so many broken years now? 

Or maybe it was a hell of a lot simpler than that. 

Maybe Bucky was fucking beautiful and when he stared at Steve with that intensity, his teeth gritting and dragging Steve even closer, tighter, his knees went weak, period, no matter the fucking situation. 

However, because Steve would really like to actually live to the day that Bucky ruined and wrecked him nine ways from Sunday, he was doing his goddamned best not to let Buck _actually_ choke him to death. 

Two hands pressed to glass, skidding feet again and Steve Rogers could do a lot of things, but apparently using only his neck as leverage wasn’t enough to keep a broken helicopter and pissed deadly assassin from tipping off the edge anyways. 

It almost didn’t feel like it was happening at first, the sudden rush of air, Buck’s hand still tight around his throat and his heart still pounding just on the other side of the skin underneath the metal fingers then they were falling.

They were falling, both of them, together, Steve’s weight dragged down right to the water by that unshakable metal hand and that was alright, they’d done nothing but fall for each other, it was damn well time they did it together. Symbolism and all that shit. 

Although it was hardly together when Buck was trying to kill him, but frankly at what point in their lives had Bucky _not_ been trying to kill him, for some stunt or another. 

Steve had a brief moment to wonder if Buck was gonna let the both of them drown this time too, but then they were hitting the water and he heard the crack, as Bucky’s forehead snapped into the glass and he was out, gone, just as Steve crashed underwater half a dozen feet away, sinking in the wide wide blue for a moment as the helicopter settled on the bottom of the lake and. 

Miraculously, he was still awake. Miraculously, he managed to pull Bucky’s wide-ass shoulders and way-more-muscular than he’d even initially thought body out of the helicopter. Miraculously, when Steve popped his head up gasping at the surface, hauling Buck with him, one hand tight on his shirt, he’d managed to save them both. 

Steve’d finally managed to fucking save them both. About damn time. 

Held his precious darling assassin Bucky to his chest and Steve’s pounding heart finally had its other, unconscious, bitching half. 

There was a lot of huffing and puffing the moment they hit shoreline, but Steve wasn’t dumping Buck for the authorities anywhere, no siree. Not him, thank you very much. 

Instead he was careful, sweet as he could be when Buck was way super heavy and they were still in a danger zone and should be getting out of here right the fuck now, only Steve didn’t have backup--

Good thing Germany still had payphones. 

Now he was gonna have to explain everything to Sam. 

Hooray. 

 

The metal warehouse wasn’t much of anything, but it was enough to keep them safe and the car lifting equipment was keeping Bucky’s arm pinned - carefully, very carefully, Steve had no idea how much Buck could feel with that thing and he didn’t want to fucking hurt him - so they were about as safe as they could get for now. 

Buck was still unconscious, beautiful head hanging and Steve would stay there staring at him forever if Sam wasn’t here but Sam was, herded him off to the other room. 

Casually forced Steve’s back to Bucky’s slumped body, brown eyes keeping careful watch from behind while Steve scanned the outside air support for the third time. 

“Y’know what I’m still not over?” Sam’s voice echoed out of nowhere and Steve sighed, glancing over his shoulder at the sassy expression and just managed not to offer a sarcastic, _everything_? “They called it a goddamn _bird_ costume.”

“To be fair,” Steve started and Sam narrowed his eyes around that look that said if Steve called him a bird he was fucking throwing in the towel right here and now and Steve quickly morphed the words on his tongue into different but no less snarky ones. “--you did ask the king of Wakanda if he liked cats.”

Sam huffed, head shaking as strong arms crossed over his chest. “Did you seriously hear that guy though?”

“That guy being _the King of Wakanda_?” Steve prodded and Sam went right on barreling on. 

“Yeah, he was all _mighty mighty_ this and Warrior King that like, so, whatever, you're badass and Royal and whatnot. It's not like--”

“He's also a billionaire genius who controls the most technologically advanced nation in the world?” Steve offered and Sam narrowed his eyes, mouth turning down in offense as he thought it over. 

“Hey how come, both the billionaires are on the same side? Man, that's not fair at _all_.”

The signature _that just ain't right_ head shake and expression and Steve fought the urge to sigh, because yeah, when you put it like that things looked pretty bleak. 

Either way. 

“Well I'm not recruiting T’Challa.” Steve crossed his arms over his chest too, peering forlorn out the crack of a window again. “Not when he's got it out for Bucky.”

“Yeah well...not all of us have smoking hot ex-boyfriends waiting for us in the freezer.”

Steve’s mouth popped open in offense as his head snapped to Sam, who was making the exact same _I don't give a fuck expression_ he always did, except this time there was a twitch of a one sided smile in it too, which. 

“Rude,” Steve huffed and Sam frowned exaggerated, throwing up both hands, unapologetic as fuck. 

A shaking head at his best friend’s ridiculous antics and the silence settled in again, enough for him to turn fully back to the window, scout out the helicopters flying and searching for them overhead and jeez, they'd had it bad before but maybe never this bad, not enough that the Avengers - the most powerful team in the world - was searching for them, the governments of everyone who signed that certificate was searching for them, the general population and anyone who watched the UN blow up was searching for them and he still didn't know if Buck was in Winter Soldier mode or remembered him or was lost forever or--

“Steve,” Sam called and it was a very different voice from the teasing one of earlier and he turned from the window so fast he almost gave himself whiplash. 

Looked like he was about to find out. 

So what if he ran - actually ran - the twenty feet between the window and the entrance to where Buck was resting, sue him, he had a lot on the line here. 

Fuck, Bucky was awake, he was so terrified and relieved and this many emotions in one day couldn’t possibly be healthy. 

A low groan tumbled from that pretty mouth as Steve stepped inside and he mentally kicked himself before he could think about it because fucking hell, Rogers, not the time. 

“ _Steve_.”

“Buck. Do you remember me?” he somehow managed, tinging on desperate enough for Sam to shoot him a look, but that, Bucky remembering him, that was what mattered. 

Buck lifted his head slowly, dark brunette strands hanging prettily in his face and Steve’s heart skipped about twenty beats in his chest. 

“Your mom's name was Sarah,” Bucky said slowly and Steve inhaled sharp, eyes searching that soot-smudged face. 

Yes, Steve’s mom’s name was Sarah and she used to kiss both their heads when she left for her night shift, both of them watching out the window of Steve’s room trepidatiously, holding their twin breaths until she finally rounded out of sight then Bucky’s hands were fisting in the front of Steve’s shirt, pushing him down on his bed and swinging one leg to climb up over him as their mouths collided hungry and messy and young--

Did Buck remember that? 

Did he remember holding Steve’s hand as Sarah took her final breath, the tears that somehow found their way to crystal eyes before they could even find his? 

There was a curl, just a twitch of a smile on one side of Bucky’s mouth and Sam glanced between Steve and Bucky and wondered distantly how Barnes had just made one of the greatest your mom jokes of the century--

Seventy years apart and all that motherfucking angst and the first thing he had to say, 

Do you remember me? I remember your mom. 

But no, apparently Steve didn't see that little shit of a grin he was giving them, he was too busy melting deeper in love and Sam rolled his eyes into the back of his head but that didn't keep Bucky from opening his dumb mouth again. 

Although this time it wasn't what either of them were expecting. 

“You used to wear...newspapers...in your sho-oes…”

And just like that Bucky was laughing, breathy and light, giggling at Steve the way he always used to for that, teasing him with a quirk of a smile against his lips every time Steve shot up on his tiptoes too fast and the ends of his shoes crinkled audibly. 

But the whole reason why he started doing it -- he didn't care about his shoes being loose, not really -- was _so_ that he could go up on his tiptoes to kiss Bucky's pretty mouth twenty times a day. 

And fuck, if Bucky was still giggling at him about it, Steve couldn't help but hope he remembered that part too, couldn't help but hope he remembered it all, everything from the newspapers in his shoes to the nights they made love under the stars. 

Couldn't help but let his heart light up unbearably warm under the warmth of that beautiful smile, barely-there laugh. 

“You can't read that in a museum,” Steve pointed out, touch of a smile and he was trying so hard not to just. Dive forward, pull Bucky into his arms, bury his nose in that beautiful dirty hair and never ever ever let go--

“Just like that was supposed to be cool?” Sam bit incredulously, tipping his head in Bucky’s direction with that full disapproving look turned on Steve now and great, couldn't Sam chose this one moment to not be so done with everything? 

“What did I do?” Bucky asked, low and suddenly not smiling at all anymore, regret and creeping horror and Steve wanted to scream, wanted to pull Bucky free from this shit storm and run and run and run--

“Enough,” he managed instead.

“God, I knew this would happen. Everything Hydra put inside me’s still there. All they had to do was say the goddamn words.” 

It broke Steve’s heart, all over again. He'd known, a little, about the things they'd done to his Bucky but. But this was so sick, it was fucking disgusting that all someone needed was a little red book and they owned him, could turn him into whatever they wanted and Steve wanted to tear the world apart and set every damn page of that horrific thing aflame. 

Say the goddamn words. 

And Steve couldn't help but wonder, what those words were, what words they'd chosen to taint forever, what words they'd used to shape and chain his boy that used to be so bright, so goddamn alive and happy and. 

He was being as gentle as he could, as understanding in what shit storm of a situation this had become, calm and still commanding--

(“You know how hot it is when you give your orders like that?” Bucky breathed against his skin and Steve grinned wickedly, backing them into the closest tree and leaning in close to Bucky’s ear, gruff and sharp, “Get on your knees, soldier.” And Bucky’d never dropped so fast, groan in his throat and flush high on his cheeks before he'd even gotten the zipper down on Steve’s pants.) 

Except this wasn't that kind of command, Steve was a lot of things in relation to Bucky now but one of them wasn't his CO. Not anymore. So the command was from the Captain’s Strategy side more than a Captain’s Orders. 

_I need you to do better than I don't know._

Either way, Buck listened as unquestionably easy as he always had, face twisting up in recall. 

Then Bucky said it, offhand and thinking back, just curious the way you'd say anything else you'd just thought of and it was remarkable Steve didn't actually throw up. 

“He wanted to know where I was kept,” Bucky trailed, eyebrows furrowing as he thought it over. “He wanted to know _exactly_ where.” 

Buck didn't even flinch. Said it like it was the most normal thing to say in the world, like he was _allowed_ to be _kept_ and. 

Steve wanted to kill someone. Everyone, who'd ever forced Buck to be kept somewhere. They'd done so so goddamn much to his best friend, but. The ease Bucky had, still, after two years out, to talk about Hydra like that, being owned like that? 

He used to be Steve’s to keep, then Hydra _owned_ him the way you were never supposed to own people, he'd belonged to someone else but not as a love, as an object, an _object_ and how could Steve ever possible ask Buck to be _his_ again? 

How could he ever possibly whisper _mine_ against Bucky’s warm skin when he'd been physically owned by Hydra? No autonomy, no life, just owned. How could Steve possibly ever have call Buck _his_ without being the same sick and twisted owner that motherfucking Hydra was? 

Steve was pretty sure he'd never, in his entire life, wanted to destroy Hydra more than in this single moment. All the hate he'd ever had accumulated over years and then. This. Motherfucking this. 

They didn't just take away Bucky, and their past. They took their fucking future too. 

Steve really was gonna be sick. 

“Why would he need to know that?” He was somehow working on autopilot, somehow managed to keep his mouth on a different track than his mind, the soldier’s orders and logic while inside he was fucking screaming over his best friend but they didn’t have _time_ , Steve couldn’t fall apart now, they didn’t have _time_.

Except then Buck opened his mouth and just like that fucking doctor had said: Apparently, the horrors never stopped. 

“‘Cause I'm not the only Winter Soldier.” 

Yeah, if Sam wasn't over here like “not cool” before, he sure as hell was now. 

“Say what?” Two dark eyebrows popping up in disbelief and Bucky sighed, shifting uncomfortably in the arm hold to stare at the ground at Steve’s feet. 

“There were these recruits, and this new experiment - bastardized versions of the serum, better copies than mine, and sometime in the early nineties they pulled me out of cryo to extract them from the scientis--”

“Wait, wait. One second, hold on,” Steve interrupted, starting slowly across the space between them with his heart in his throat. 

“Seriously? When the story was just getting good.” Sam’s tone was nine kinds of hard behind him and Steve shook his head once, feet coming to a reluctant stop a foot from Bucky’s side, crouching down to his sitting height sans the slight wince his muscles were begging but there was no way Buck wouldn't notice from this close. 

And boy, were they close. Again. He'd literally dragged Bucky out of the river and carried him bridestyle to Sam’s getaway car (they'd already dumped), but for some reason his heart was still pounding like hell in his chest. 

“You can definitely tell the story, we wanna hear, but can I take you out of the arm hold?” Steve got a little quiet, gentle on the words because he really really wanted Bucky to understand that everything from this point on, Steve was never gonna make him do anything against his will. A tiny hint of a smile at one corner and he offered Buck’s blinking expression the lightest thing he could given the situation and the terrible confusion on Buck’s face. “I mean. I'm pretty sure the Buck that knew I stuffed my shoes isn't gonna be stuffing either of us anytime soon.” 

Sam muttered something like _speak for yourself_ and Bucky’s sharp crystal eyes studied Steve seriously in the muddy lighting. 

“Yeah, that'd be. Thanks,” he offered, as Steve already stood to circle the side of the machine, both hands on the crank and he grit his teeth and shoved it open with a most-definitely-not-exaggerating push of strength. The clamp released and metal whirred, soft gasp as Bucky brought his arm into his stomach, plates adjusting and recalibrating as he slumped against the side of the machine. 

Steve wiped his brow, wondering distantly exactly how much sweat and grime was on his face now, and circled back round to Bucky’s side, careful to keep a bit of the distance still. He didn't need Buck to feel crowded, there were still so many things on the table. 

A moment’s hesitance as he debated between the words “the” and “your,” no idea which was more or less offensive and finally just settled with his gut. 

“Is your arm okay?” 

Another quiet whirr as Buck curled his fingers in, spread them back out, then metal was sliding through long brunette to tuck his hair prettily behind his ear before Steve could do it for him and Steve had to remind himself to fucking breathe. 

“Yeah. Uh, thanks.” Bucky was still looking at him a little oddly and Steve nodded, rolling his lips in as his fingers twitched to reach and. 

Okay, that was enough of that. Steve forced himself to back up, kept backing up til he hit wall, all the way to something sturdy to lean against; if he didn’t get something to hold him up right the fuck now he was gonna wrap himself around Bucky's bones. 

Sam was back a ways too, but Steve was pretty sure that was just cause Sam didn't like him. 

It was the opposite problem Steve had and really, he had no idea in the world how anyone could _not_ love Bucky Barnes but then again, maybe he was a little partial. 

The story of the Winter Soldiers was horrifying, but nowhere half as bad as the dark look on Bucky’s face as he described standing apart from the throng of new soldiers, the seventy-year-long bred attack dog that was so far gone by this point he didn't question a single damn order, never even considered fighting Hydra back like the rest of the teamed up Prisoners, was the very one to slam the gate that doomed them all to their eternal fate for good, Revolution nipped in the bud when...if Bucky had joined in--

Steve didn't have to ask to see that’s exactly what Buck was thinking, exactly what part of that story was haunting him and. Fuck, were there any pieces left of Steve’s heart left to break after this? 

“They all turn out like you?” Sam asked darkly and Bucky glanced up at him, replied easy and flat. 

“Worse.” 

Steve looked away. The expression on his face looked like it hurt and the cut in Bucky's forehead looked like it hurt and the tightness around his mouth looked like it hurt and all Steve wanted was. 

For people to stop hurting Bucky. 

Like. Fucking hell. Leave him alone. 

Everyone should just fucking _leave him alone._

Why the fuck wouldn't the world _quit hurting his baby?_

Although, on that point they were talking about deadly psycho assassins and the falling of empires, maybe Steve needed a new slew of pet names. Ones a little less young sweet and innocent because neither of them were the majority of those anymore. 

What kind of pet names did one give a deadly assassin? Personally, Steve didn’t really _want_ to call Buck anything different, but a lot had changed and they still hadn’t talked about any of it and there was no way to know. 

Would he still let Steve call him baby? Still smile that little one tucked in the corner of his mouth, cheeks flushing red as Steve cupped his jaw and cooed softly, _c’mon, baby, lemme take care’a you_ \--

Anyways. They were talking about empires, still, about saving the world and stopping more mass destruction and. There was still a bounty on their heads, and now a mission in their hands. There’d be time to take Buck’s hands between his own later. 

“If we're going after them, we need to get away from here and fast.” Bucky straightened up from the equipment he was propped against and Sam pinned Steve with a look he ignored, brushing past Sam’s shoulder to step up, holding out a hand in offering and pretending like his heart wasn't pounding loud and obvious in his fucking outstretched palm. 

But Bucky took the offer, metal curling around his wrist and Steve was maybe a little light-headed at the grip as he pulled Bucky to his feet. The smooth was slightly chilled, so foreign and powerful with Steve’s veins burning under the pads of metal fingertips, then Bucky was letting go to brush himself off and it took Steve a couple seconds to compose himself, blinking numbly at Sam’s waving an arm between them and the words floated in their general direction. 

“We're not far from a parking lot, if we can stay inconspicuous we can snag another car. But all the blood and dirt isn't exactly inconspicuous. You two clean up and I'll find us something.”

Steve was pretty sure he didn't light up visually at that, but based on the look Sam was suddenly giving him very seriously, he may as well have fucking cheered aloud. 

“But remember, we are in a goddamn hurry. No funny business.”

The weird look Bucky shot Sam was probably the most nerve-wracking thing Steve had seen all day because what did that _mean_. 

Ice and illusion shattered as Bucky cupped a hand around his mouth, called after Sam’s retreating back rather loudly, “Hey, find something fast! Really fast!”

Good thing this warehouse was empty and abandoned, right? Although. 

That meant they were also alone since the first time Buck’d admitted to remembering him. 

Suddenly Steve really could use that splash of cold water on his face. 

There was a sink on the far side of the warehouse, an old creaky faucet that sputtered stupidly before it finally managed to flow and funny how that’s exactly what Steve felt like everytime he so much as glanced Bucky’s direction. 

Except now Buck was leaning against the side of the sink, waiting silently as Steve scrubbed down his face and ran about nine thousand different conversation starters through his head, shooting every single one down before he could so much as open his mouth. 

By the time he stepped away from the sink to wipe his vaguely-cleaner face on the cleanest part of his shirt he could find, he still hadn’t said anything and neither had Buck, stepping past him with this amiable silence that was driving Steve...fucking insane. 

This was the man who’d screamed his name over a thousand orgasms and now, after seventy years, he didn’t have a single thing to say? What the honest hell was going on in that pretty head?

Steve was so wrapped up in forcing himself not to glance down Bucky’s body as he leaned over the sink he almost missed the wince. Almost. 

Fingertips drew away from the corner of his forehead with a quiet breath and Steve inhaled, looking up from the arms crossed over his chest to finally be brave to fucking. Say something. 

“I can do it,” he offered, as casually as he could, maybe a little too casual. Bucky paused, hands in the water and back to Steve and jesus, what he’d fucking give to know what Buck was thinking, but he didn’t want it to be anything bad, he wasn’t trying to. To force anything and. 

“I can see better,” Steve corrected carefully which was true, there wasn’t a mirror or anything and Buck couldn’t see where he was cut, it only made logical sense--

“You did your own just fine, so can I.” Buck’s shoulders were set just as stubborn as they used to be, and yeah it’d been a long time but he could still tell that much, even if he couldn’t be sure whether Buck was just being stubborn or flat-out shutting Steve down.

“I'm not bleeding though,” he pointed out, just in case, and Bucky huffed, straightening up to wipe his wet hands on the seam of his shirt. 

“For once.”

There was a hint of amusement in it and that was it, that was the only in he needed. 

Because yeah, Steve had no idea where the fuck they stood on the fact that they spent more time with each other horizontal than vertical - which was saying a lot, actually, like a fucking lot, because they were inseparable in daytime too - but regardless of all that?

Buck was still his best friend, in the world, and no matter what else happened, that wasn’t gonna ever fucking change. 

So yeah, hell yeah the next few strides that took him to Bucky’s side were as confident and cocky as the Winter Soldier’s Murder Strut Down The Hoods Of Cars. Steve could do this. They could do this. 

He sidled up beside those heartbreakingly wide shoulders, tugging once on Bucky’s sleeve - the way Buck used to for all those fights back when his shirt from the docks was too dirty to help - so he could use the material for a makeshift cloth. 

Crystal finally lit on his and Bucky eyed him, calculating, probably taking note of exactly how fast Steve’s pulse was in his wrists.

“Steve, you don't have to--

“Buck, we’re in a hurry,” he reminded, short and simple. Finally, finally, Bucky sighed. Steve didn’t cheer out loud that time either, see, he was improving all the time.

“Yeah, okay, fine.” He wiggled the metal arm free and Steve was most definitely not crowing as he wet the edge of Bucky’s sleeve, easing Buck’s shoulder to the side so he could see better in the dim ass lighting. 

Which was also most definitely why Steve had to stand this close. 

Breath held tight in his chest, Steve swiped the wet cloth carefully over dirty skin, arching down sharp cheekbones, over the unfamiliar scruff that was actually gonna be the death of him. 

It was just. He could imagine, just barely, what it might be like to have the scruff rub his chin raw, his collarbone shinied pink as Buck latched that pretty mouth on Steve’s neck the way he used to. Or hell, what the burn might be like further down, between his legs, raw enough to make him hiss every time he sat down--

He swallowed tightly, forcing the thoughts aside and glancing up from his fingertips to find Bucky’s eyes on him, nearly startling at the gaze. Both of them froze, blue caught on crystal. There were way too many walls up to even read the emotion swirling in Bucky’s mesmerizing icy eyes which was a goddamn shame, because Steve sure knew exactly how he felt right now. 

Then again, he’d also been pretty sure Bucky was gonna kiss him earlier and he’d been shoved through a wall instead, so. God, they were close enough right now all he’d have to do was just lean forward, press his mouth to Bucky’s pouty one and he could practically taste the fireworks that’d shoot down his spine--

A quick inhale and Steve cut his gaze away, dipping the other corner of Buck’s sleeve in the stream of the faucet, soaking in the cold on his fingertips like that could possibly wake him up from this surreal-ass dream. 

Bucky was here, and close, quietly watching Steve. Trusting Steve to wipe him down which shouldn’t be a big deal but it was, Bucky had chosen and was letting himself be touched, be cleaned, by someone else’s kind hands and maybe Steve was just reading wayyy too much into this right now. 

It was kinda charming though, the parallels, when Buck used to clean him up after fights and yeah, this past fight was quite a bit longer and rougher than they were used to but Steve had always thought it was a little dreamy. 

And as stupid as it sounded thinking it, Steve kinda wanted this moment to be all romantic and sweet, gingerly fixing Buck what he could in the little time they were given, to hold his beautiful scruffy jaw and tilt his face vulnerable into the light--

But the fucking grime on his forehead wasn’t coming off. The blood had dried and the dirt had caked on with it and Steve really would like to be gentle but now matter how much he scrubbed the fucking mud wasn’t _coming_ off.

“Ow, ow, _watch_ it.” Bucky winced and tilted away from Steve’s hand under the harsh of the cloth. “If I'dda cleaned you like that back in the day I’dda rubbed your delicate skin off.” 

“Who you calling delicate?” Steve shot back, grabbing his jaw and straightening Buck’s head back up, ignoring the look he got for it and sweeping the dark hair out of the way with his pinky, rubbing the side of that pretty face even harder. 

Bucky glared. 

Steve gave him the triumphant little shit of a smile that used to drive Bucky mad and the glare cut on an edge, fading into something a little soft. It took everything in him not to burst out in a wide-ass fucking smile at that, lips rolling in and gaze carefully on the last sweep of damp cloth over Bucky’s skin - the cut on his head wasn’t nearly so bad as the blood made it look - because with the weight of amused-bordering-on-affectionate settling over his skin, one look at those pretty crystals and he was gonna break in one way or another.

“Alright. You're all cleaned up.” Steve took a step backwards, nodding once to himself as Bucky’s metal fingers slid back through the damp edge of his sleeve, reaching over to turn off the faucet as Steve reminded himself to breathe through the heartbeat in his throat and tipped his head for the door, wishing his next words anything but these. “You ready?” 

(All he wanted was to push Buck up against the sink and demand what he knew, what he wanted, if he had any idea how fucking much he’d haunted Steve, if their hearts still beat in fucking time--)

Then they were jogging outside together, Buck keeping pace with him easily while Steve ran every single expression Bucky’s shot him in the past ten minutes over in his head and tried to figure out some sort of semblance to what was going on but by the time they caught up to Sam, he was probably only more confused and conflicted. 

Did Bucky just remember every single detail about him that didn’t include the way he tasted, felt against his body? Or did he just. Not care anymore? Maybe he just didn’t feel that way anymore, after everything that’d happened and Steve would understand, that would be so understandable he just. Would really like to know. 

What if. What if Buck thought _Steve_ didn’t want him anymore? Did he need to be more obvious? Or was he coming on too strong? It’d been so long since they’d been together, even longer for Buck, maybe they just had to take things slow. 

Slow was good, right? 

“The hell is this?” Bucky asked breathily, jolting to a stop beside the car Sam was waiting at, which looked to be a generic Honda of some kind. 

“Our getaway car,” Sam replied, the _duh_ in his voice making Buck lift an eyebrow. 

“I don’t think so. You did hear the word _fast_ , right? We need miles right now, some serious miles across this country and that’s not happening in that.” 

“Okay, Mr. Know It All, what genius plan do you suggest inst--”

“That one.”

“ _That_ one??” Sam said incredulously and Steve spun around to follow where the metal finger was pointing. 

“Bucky, that’s not exactly inconspicuous,” Steve pointed out slowly and Sam threw up a hand, mouthing _finally, he agrees with me_ at the sky. Steve shot him a look and crossed his arms over his chest. 

Just in time for two strong arms to suddenly herd them both forcibly in the direction of the Mustang. 

“Stark expects you to get the practical one, right? So let's go impractical as hell. Gotta get some distance and speed first, and what better way than the last thing Tony’d expect outta America’s Sweetheart?”

It wasn’t that bad of a point, although with Bucky’s hand pressed into his lower spine like this Steve was pretty sure he’d agree to tricycles right now. Did Bucky just call him sweetheart? Like, in a really roundabout way? Steve was pretty sure Bucky just called him sweetheart.

But Sam, with his infinite wisdom and sass, rolled his eyes with a sigh and agreed too, so Steve couldn’t be held accountable. Which was apparently what Wilson was thinking too. 

“Fine just. This goes south, it ain't on me.” Another exasperated shake of his head and Sam reached for the driver’s side door, almost pried the thing open if the metal hand hadn’t suddenly clapped it right back closed and stopped him in his raised-eyebrow-excuse-me tracks.

“No way. I’m the assassin trained for evasive vehicular skills, I get to drive.” 

Sam’s jaw dropped an inch and he turned to Steve, lifting a hand with his _can you believe this guy_ look and Steve winced, shrugging a shoulder up in an apology he was gonna have to extend in more than just a baked cake when this was all over. 

“He's got a point, Sam.”

“Really, man?” A hand thrown up in complaint and Bucky gave Sam a pretty smile as he marched around to the other side of the car, mumbling just loud enough for Steve to hear. “I’m sure he’s got _plenty_ of things but unlike you, I don’t give a damn Rogers.” 

He opened his mouth to reply and suddenly decided better of it, because he wasn’t sure how good Buck’s serum was and if he could hear that but if he didn’t, might as well let it slip. For now. 

Sam was still grumbling to himself as he folded into the back seat, sideways and kinda squished, shooting Steve a look the moment he slid inside and closed the shotgun door. Steve knit sincere eyebrows in apology and Sam rolled his eyes, unlocking his phone and typing away moodily, mutters turned to something about checking how much shit they were in now, odds were the headlines sure fuckin’ knew. 

Yeah, they’d definitely dug themselves quite a hole this time, but on the bright side, things didn’t look like they could get much worse. All they had to do was assemble a team, get to an airport and take off for Siberia, there couldn’t be _that_ many complications between here and there. 

 

Then Bucky pressed his foot to the pedal and suddenly, there were. 

A lot of complications. 

The sudden jolt of speed was enough to catch him off guard, engine roaring under his seat as Bucky tugged the wheel hard and peeled out of the parking lot, tires skidding for just a moment before righting enough to catch pavement and fucking _soar_. 

It was just, the first thing he thought - besides oh _shit_ as he grabbed the edge of his seat, other hand on the door like that could possibly keep him steady, calm, or any less likely to die - was of that _fucking_ motorcycle. 

The one Bucky’d straddled mid-air and ridden like a fuckin’ pro, tires screeching and whipping around corners and that was _exactly_ the way he was driving right now. That reckless, breathtaking way Mustangs were _meant_ to be driven, the bored rich kids who wanted all rumble and ride and danger and adrenaline and. 

So yeah, it caught him off guard and it wasn’t his fault his breath caught in his throat, it was Bucky’s fault, it entirely entirely Bucky’s fault and the way he was driving this fucking car, the stupid replay of that fucking motorcycle flip as Steve stared wide-eyed out the windshield and tried desperately not to think about being straddled and ridden like that because this time, Buck was _right there_ and he didn’t even have a jacket to throw over his lap, he could not let this get--

They were halfway through the intersection before Bucky decided he was going to turn the car a complete ninety degrees, tail-end kicking out in a perfect drift then they were tearing down another road and Steve was most definitely not gonna survive this. Blues wide as he swallowed, flicked his eyes up to the low ceiling and tried to convince himself just. Not to get hard, not right now, goddammit.

Why did the engine have to be so _loud_ and _vibrational_ , it was rumbling right under his seat and Bucky’s hair was tucked behind his ear again, devastating hint of a stupid ass smirk on the edge of his mouth, the rush and pure adrenaline flushing his cheeks and. Fuck. 

Dear lord, fuck. 

Gone, gone, he was a complete goner. 

Steve couldn’t help it, he was doing his fucking best to keep his breathing from picking up, heart from racing. But he couldn’t tear his eyes away from Bucky, and lord help him he just looked so goddamn powerful and beautiful and wild and. Steve was squirming a little in the leather seat, okay maybe squirming a little more than a little. 

Then, heavens of all fucking things, Bucky glanced over at him. 

Crystal took one look at him, pretty dark head cocking as Bucky locked his gaze on Steve’s and _slammed_ the fucking pedal, Mustang jumping to speed up with a high-pitched roar and. 

Steve’s eyes went fucking _black._

Pupils dilating so fast the next sound out of his throat was entirely involuntary, a soft bitten whimper and suddenly the flush on Bucky’s cheekbones was a lot darker, just maybe a little hot under the collar too--

Okay, _super_ hot under the color too, pink mouth parting as he looked heatedly over at Steve again, glancing between him and the road and Steve was fucking frozen in his seat while simultaneously burning the hottest he could ever remember in a long history of the fucking insatiable flame between their gravitational bodies. 

The car whipped around another corner, Bucky’s eyes on him the entire time and Steve’s hand shot to the center console to brace himself against the turn, or maybe the way his skin was burning, his pants tightening for like the ninth time today and this just wasn’t fair, it wasn’t fair, fuck fuck _fuck_.

By some grace of god they finally hit a red light, car shifting gears down audibly as they crawled to a stop, Bucky’s burning side-glances ripping him apart from the inside out but fuck, when the car was idling he could feel the _power_ of the vibration under his seat even stronger and he was pretty sure Buck was staring at him unabashedly now, maybe looking him over with that critical sniper’s gaze he gave all his targets, oh _fu-uck_ \-- 

Steve was breathing heavy with his eyes squeezed shut tight as they could fucking get when Sam finally looked up from his phone, glancing between the two of them in the front seat and furrowing his expression in vague confusion. 

“You alright, man?”

“Mmmhm,” Steve managed, only it was high pitched and way more _mmm_ than it should’ve been. 

Sam glanced him over a second time, one eyebrow twitching suspiciously then he went back to googling airports and routes and news on his phone and Steve was suddenly very very aware of how close Bucky was, how small this car was despite being so goddamn _fast_ and _rumbly_. 

And god, with Sam distracted like that but still right there in the back seat it felt like they were practically flirting on the edge of danger, just barely getting away with screwing in a public bathroom, breaking apart from a kiss milliseconds before Sarah opened his bedroom door, it didn’t matter that Buck hadn’t laid a hand on him he could feel it anyway, this palpable _tug_ , tension so thick and hot it was choking up his throat and just crushing harder with that heart-pounding risk of being caught making everything that much more precarious. 

Precarious wasn’t exactly good right now. Really really not good, considering that. Fucking _hell_ , all Steve could think about was launching over to the driver’s side of the car and riding Bucky's cock over the rumbling engine until they both saw stars. 

Jesus christ, fucking-- 

He had to get a fucking grip--

The tires screeched as the car suddenly peeled off, throwing him back against the seat and Steve fumbled to grab the edge of his plush chair again, grip so fucking tight he was pretty sure he was either about to spontaneously combust. Or shatter the door, curl his fist right through the fucking leather creaking under his hands.

The closed eyes were making it worse, right? Heightening all his other senses, like the smell of burning rubber, the faint tinge of river water still lingering on both his and Bucky’s clothes he could be peeling off, the latent heat rolling off the engine through his toes…

Steve forced himself to pry his eyes open, inhaling audibly as Buck leaned into the pedal again and jesus fuck he was so turned on his vision was swimming, everything distant and oversaturated, fingers fucking itching to reach over the tiny tiny space between them that was inches and miles and. Fuck, he had to focus, focus, clear his head and settle on--

Those clear, beautiful crystal eyes and of fucking course that was the first thing he saw, wasn’t it always but it still took Steve’s breath away, which really wasn’t a good thing considering how hard he was already breathing but Buck’s eyes were on him how could he _not_. 

God, the ice in those eyes was gonna be the goddamn death of him, heat shivering waves down his spine and Steve was pretty sure this couldn’t get one single bit worse, then Bucky’s sharp gaze cut away from his. 

And flicked right down to Steve’s lap. 

That he was full fucking aware of the state of, it wasn’t like he _hadn’t noticed_ all the blood in his body rushing down, bulging obvious as fucking hell. That Bucky was now. 

Staring at. 

Steve was going to sink through his seat, all the way through the rumbling heatwave engine, the very last thing he--

...expected was the fucking look on Bucky’s face. 

Pretty pink plush lips parted further, shiny wet as crystal swallowed up darker too, shaky inhale but that wasn’t it, that wasn’t what fucking ruined Steve. 

It was the shiver that went down Bucky’s spine, and simultaneously right down his shoulder, metal plates shifting all the way down like dominos, rippling into his fingertips and the metal hand flexed hard against the leather steering wheel, gripping and rolling and making the leather remold with the force of it and. 

Yeah, Steve lost it a little. 

He fucking tried to keep his mouth shut, but the moan slipped through his damn lips anyways, quiet and so fucking desperate he was light-headed with it. 

Bucky pressed the pedal down further, engine roaring up and Steve knocked his head back against the headrest, squirming hard in the seat now, fingers curling permanent imprints in the seat, the door--

“I veto this car,” Sam informed them loudly from the backseat and Steve didn’t quite register that. Or like, at all. 

Bucky did, but he didn’t even glance Sam’s way. He eyed Steve instead, crystal sweeping up and down the tensed muscle.

“Why,” Bucky replied low, deep and dusty and dirty and it wasn’t a question at all and Steve practically whimpered in the passenger seat. 

“Yup. Vetoed. Parking garage.” Sam pointed out the window and Bucky was still staring at Steve more than the road so he reinforced the point with a very serious tap against the glass. “ _Now_.”

Another round of skid marks as Bucky rounded the corner too fast, a high-pitched breathy sound and the creaking of leather about to fucking cave. Then the car was screeching to a halt, nearly bruising Steve’s chest against his seatbelt and god, the bruises he wanted to press and suck into Bucky’s gorgeous skin, the bruises he wanted from that fucking rippling metal arm--

They were stopped, idling, he had to get his fucking shit together and Steve was fucking trying, biting his lip near hard enough to draw blood and staring disastrously up at the metal roof because he couldn’t look at Bucky, he really couldn’t, he was barely keeping his shit together right now and. 

That’s exactly when Buck chose to whirr the metal arm and double-tap the pedal one more time, revving the engine so fucking hard he could feel it in his stomach coiling so tight there wasn’t a single fucking thing he could do to stop his eyes from slipping shut, lips parting around a gasp of a moan as his spine gave out, slipping against leather and sinking lower in the vibrating warm seat--

“Rogers, out. _Now_.” 

Sam’s voice was sharp and loud enough that time to cut through the fog and he just barely managed to scramble a shaking hand against the door handle, popping it open by some miracle, eyes still closed a moment as he nearly fell out of the car, stumbling to his feet with a hand dragging him upright and clutching the metal roof so tight it could be the metal arm that just thinking about was keeping his chest heaving so hard he could’ve just ran all that distance instead. 

Yeah, still couldn’t quite manage himself, wiping one shaking hand down his face and wishing vehemently he had a jacket to tie around his waist but at this point it wasn’t like everyone within a fucking mile couldn’t smell the pheromones rolling off his skin right now anyways. 

Then Sam was standing right there beside him and Steve forced himself to blink, shut his mouth, focus on anything that was the fucking pulse between his legs. 

“We’ve got enough of a head start,” Sam was telling him and Steve nodded, but he would’ve nodded to literally anything out of Sam’s mouth right now, so fucking unsteady god knows what noise would come out if he parted his own lips. “Go pick us something inconspicuous.” 

He waved a gesturing hand and Steve nodded again, but he didn’t move a fucking muscle besides the rapidly expanding ones under that dirty tshirt as he breathed too hard. Those were words he was supposed to be processing, but based on the look on Steve’s face Sam was gonna go with the a _no_ on that one.

“Something civilian and slow,” Sam clarified, about to follow it up with an _aka not sexy_ , but he was pretty sure if he said any form of the word sex right now, Rogers was gonna one arm launch himself over the hood of the car and tackle Barnes to the fucking pavement. 

“Go, man.” He pushed one of Steve’s shoulders, hopefully jolting him out of his funk but yeah, didn’t look like it was gonna be that easy. 

One of those big hands shoved shakily through blonde hair, rucking it up even more as Steve nodded for the third time, _this_ time finally seeming to register the fucking words. 

“Right,” he managed, weak as hell then he was pushing off the car and trying to breathe, starting slowly for the line of cars, stopping at the closest wall for a moment, half bent over as he caught his breath and Sam finally tore his worried gaze away from his best friend. 

And stormed around the other side of the car to haul out the motherfucking asshole of an assassin, who was, oh wait, leaning smugly against the hood of the Mustang and - Sam was pretty sure - totally checking out Steve’s ass and yeah, that was enough of that. 

One hand on the metal bicep to pull him aside and Bucky made an offended sound, yanking out of Sam’s grip but whatever, he didn’t give a damn, it was time for Barnes to pay the fuck attention. 

“Listen, Barnes,” he snapped, making sure those pretty light blues were on him and his furious fucking face, because this was goddamn important. “Just ‘cause you're not beatin’ the shit outta Steve doesn't make what you're doing any more cool than that Winter Soldier stunt from earlier.” 

It was actually kinda impressive, how fucking quick Bucky snapped out of the amused and teasing demeanor he’d been shooting Rogers’ way ten seconds ago, instantly serious, eyebrows furrowing darkly as they lifted at the middle and he demanded right back,

“The hell is _that_ supposed to mean?” Like he didn’t know, like he wasn’t just pulling a dozen fucking puppet strings in that car.

“It means stop _messing_ with him. He genuinely thinks you might still want him and he doesn't need another fucking heartbreak on top of everything right now, okay?” Bucky’s head pulled back in surprise and Sam just kept barreling on, leaning forward into Precious Assassin Space to force that dense head to fucking hear him this time. “‘Cause, oh wait, yeah, Peggy Carter’s funeral was. Let's see. Yesterday??” 

“Peggy's--” Those crystal eyes shot as wide as Steve’s had been in the Mustang and well, at least that was genuine surprise, so he hadn’t known, but fucking _still_. Peggy or not, that was a shity ass move.

“Yeah. So cut out the motherfucking funny business.” Short sweet and as serious as fucking serious got, then Sam spun on one heel, leaving Barnes there in the temporary dust to let that sink in because he seriously could not believe the _nerve_ on that asshole. Except he was barely around the other side of the car following after Steve before it hit him and he spun right back around. 

“Oh! And one more thing. You--” He pointed a very angry, very sincere finger at Barnes’ stupid pretty face that just looked _so_ shocked and tumultuous, well tough _shit._ “--are banished to the back seat.” 

“You can't do that!” Bucky called after him, and oh _boy_ did that assassin have some things to learn here today. 

“ _Watch_ me,” Sam shot back and the surprise on Bucky’s face just kept flitting more and more shocked. What, did he think Steve was getting by on his own sans-best-friend for the past two years? No, buddy, Sam fucking had his back and no way in hell he was giving that up now. “Just cause you're all badass and beautiful doesn't mean I won't kick your ass if you even _attempt_ one more stupid move like that.”

With that he spun on his heel again, left Barnes behind to scowl crossly at his back, finally gathering himself to murder-strut across the distance Sam had gained on him and they were both almost caught back up to Steve when Bucky suddenly shoved past him, knocking sideways into his shoulder on the way. 

The glare Sam shot him over the roof of the blue Bug Steve’d found wasn’t half as venomous as the one Bucky drilled back as Sam stared him down and lifted his voice to very obviously address Steve, who was sitting numbly in the driver’s seat. 

“I’ve got shotgun man, that cool with you?”

“Yeah,” Steve drifted, blinking at them both for a moment before sucking in a breath and shaking his head once, waiting for them to climb inside before he carefully started up the engine. Sam studied in his peripherals, debated how good of a driver Steve could be right now, but with Bucky in the backseat, a mission and purpose on Rogers’ mind, and something to do with his hands, he was pretty sure Steve in the driver’s seat was about the only way this could work right now. 

Even if Barnes looked just about ready to slaughter everyone from his spot in the back and Sam most definitely wasn’t smiling to himself as Steve slowly puttered the VW bug out of its spot - vaguely shaken rebel driving, a very cramped and pissy assassin in the backseat, and a very smug best friend in the front. 

This was gonna be one hell of a ride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that was a great fucking time and i have beautiful plans for the rest of this, stick around my friends
> 
>  
> 
> also, credit to all the beautiful ideas on tumblr about the fucking petty ass fighting that is just getting started between these fuckin' gorgeous sassy boys can you tell i love them all dearly 
> 
> and i love you all dearly too, and i'd love to know what you think!
> 
> xx


	2. No

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So someone sent me [this](http://littlemoonlightbaby.tumblr.com/post/144550726932/i-ship-it-af?is_related_post=1) post and said it reminded them of this fic and I'm cryin it's so fuckin true
> 
>  
> 
> This is ridiculous this whole fic is ridiculous happy fucking birthday Steve, I hope you all enjoy my well timed fourth of july update 
> 
> Sam's still done, everyone's still really done, enjoy
> 
> xx

.::.

“Can you move your seat up?” 

Sam didn’t even hesitate. Didn’t turn around. Didn’t consider. Didn’t so much as move one muscle but to open his completely done entirely stubborn mouth and deadpan a very flat, very serious,

“No.”

Did he give a damn that Bucky Barnes was Cap’s boyfriend? 

No. 

Did he give a damn that Bucky Barnes was the deadliest assassin of all history and could become unhinged at any moment and assassinate them all?

No. 

Did he give a damn that Bucky Barnes was being a pretentious asshole and trying to get his best friend all worked up after running away and hiding from them for two years?

No. 

Did he give a damn that the precious Great Bucky Barnes was squished in the backseat of this fucking VW bug after they couldn’t handle driving a fast car like normal people?

Fucking no, he did not. 

Bucky moved. Lifted his Grade A beef up six inches and scooted the fuck over, daggers glaring in the back of Sam’s head the entire time, deliberate creak of the leather as he settled back in. Good. At least one half of the fucking troublesome Barnes&Rogers knew how to fucking listen. 

If it hadn’t been for their _fuckery_ in the front seat of the Mustang, Barnes wouldn’t have to fucking _deal with this shit_ , now would he? But Sam sure as hell wasn’t dealing with _that_ shit. No siree, not him.

Personally, he thought it was fucking crazy for Cap to even be _thinking_ about Barnes in that way right now, considering they still knew fuck-shit about him except that he had a ton of dangerous deadly identical buddies and knew Steve’s mom. Yeah, Sam so wasn’t about to sign away his heart on the fucking line after that nonsense. 

Besides, he’d been _in the fucking car_ , even if Barnes wasn’t a psycho assassin who’d been gone for seventy years then ran away from them mysteriously for two more, they should not be up to that _shit_ right in _front_ of him. 

So was he gonna move his seat up? 

No. No, he was fucking not. 

Did it feel good to know exactly how grumpy and annoyed Bucky Barnes was right now, glaring into the back of Sam’s head like he could light him on fire with that pretty crystal gaze alone?

Yes, actually. It really, _really_ did.

He’d spent the entire car ride so far either dead silent or grumbling whatever nonsense under his breath every time Sam very pointedly brought up the girl they were going to meet. Which he brought up a lot. 

“Sharon sure is great to meet up with us.”

“She’s just so helpful, isn’t she, Steve?”

“And I’ll tell you what, there’s no way we could do this without _her_.” 

Bucky kept glaring at him. Steve kept checking the GPS on his phone and making distracted noises of half-agreement to keep Sam happy as he looked straight at Bucky and said, loudly,

“For a badass blonde agent of the government, she’s pretty hot, isn’t she?”

Steve made another distracted noise and Bucky narrowed his eyes at Sam and Sam stared dead-straight at him with that look _fucking say something, I fucking dare you to_. 

Bucky kept his mouth shut and finally, Steve pulled the car to a stop at the secluded little under-bridge where Sharon was waiting for them. 

But see, as much as Sam had been teasing Steve about it? He knew Steve, and he knew Sharon enough to know that neither of them were. Y’know. Actually interested in each other. 

She could do a hell of a lot better than her Aunt’s old flame and the two of them had had like. Three conversations, maybe, ever, and half those had been about her spying on him as a next door neighbor. Steve hadn’t taken that too well, lies that big tended to kinda knock him over. So they were friends, yeah, but the amount of chemistry? Like. Negative numbers, over here. 

Which apparently didn’t stop Steve from leaning over and kissing her. Sam was confused for about three milliseconds before it hit him - _duh_ \- and schooled into his best wingman face. He was one hell of a wingman. 

Literally. Get it, cause he had the wings and everything, as well as being Steve’s best friend and backup man and-- yeah. Anyways. 

Besides, despite all the fucking _extra_ drama going on with Barnes, Steve was still making out with hot badass chicks and Sam couldn’t help but be proud. The kid had been clueless, entirely oblivious with women for years - he’d heard all the stories, even Peggy Carter had to drag him down into a kiss cause Steve just didn’t _get it._

Well, that, and he always had that thing with Bucky, but. Steve had never really explained how that whole thing with Peggy and Bucky had worked out, Sam was left to wonder whether it was like...threesomes, trading off, who knows? Maybe that weird Parks and Rec thing, the whole: This is my boyfriend Steve, this is his boyfriend Bucky. Steve’s straight for me and gay for Bucky and Bucky’s super gay for Steve and I hate Bucky. 

Either way, it sounded complicated as hell and as much as Sam loved Steve, he sure as hell had enough juicy details about his sex life by now to last him a lifetime and he had a feeling he was nowhere near even the tip of the iceberg he was gonna end up being privy too. 

Anyways. Sex life. Steve was kissing Sharon Carter and that was just...weird, in a lot of ways, because it was one thing to have a threesome with two _extremely_ hot and feisty brunettes, it was a whole other ballpark to share down the family and make out with the niece of one after you literally just attended her funeral? Like. Damn, let the body get cold first. 

No disrespect to Peggy Carter, she was a fucking god, praise that woman for putting up with both Barnes and Rogers for as long as she did because Sam had only been dealing with it for about three hours now and he was real damn close to shooting somebody. Like. Real damn close. 

He was pretty sure Peggy would kick Steve’s ass for this. Even if Steve was doing it to get a rouse outta Barnes, which he was like….98% sure what was happening here. Even as they pulled away and Sam looked on with that smug proud smile, there was still like. Zero chemistry there. It was like. The friendliest, most platonic kiss he’d seen in his life. Like, he was pretty sure _he_ could kiss Steve and have it be like. Nine thousand times smokier than that. 

Not that he was thinking about what it’d be like kissing Steve, because when Steve looked over to them with that content little smile on his face, Sam was full aware of the assassin sitting (cramped, haha) behind him, and exactly who Steve was checking reactions for. 

Based on the _c’mon_ look Blondie up there shot them, he was gonna have to guess Barnes at least _attempted_ a proud smile too. 

Too bad he was hella too stubborn to turn around and see how much pain was in that smile too. 

However, on the bright side? 

Steve saw it. 

Steve saw it and his breath nearly caught in his throat. 

 

He wasn’t going crazy. 

He really wasn’t. 

Bucky remembered. 

Bucky still wanted him. Right? Right? That was jealousy, right? That smile was more bitter than amused, right? He wasn’t crazy. He’d never been so relieved to see Buck annoyed in his entire life and he wasn’t going crazy. 

He’d barely even opened the car door yet when Bucky was leaning forward between the seats, prying the way he always had. (Their first conversation about Peggy Carter had been a very very interesting one.)

“Who's she?” Bucky prodded, metal finger in the back of Steve’s seat to emphasize. He almost just said _my neighbor_ , or maybe _a SHIELD Agent_ , but. Well. Sharon was kinda more than that. 

“Peggy's niece,” he replied distractedly, spinning the wheel of the bug as he threw it in reverse, only problem was that he had to put an arm on the back of Sam’s seat and look over his shoulder to drive backwards which meant he got to see the exact look on Buck’s face as his jaw dropped. 

“You-- wow. _Wow._ ” The raised eyebrows and shaking head were exactly what he would’ve expected outta him in the 40’s, but to see that same expression on the Winter Soldier was one hell of a trip. “Jeez, Steve, I thought _I_ was the one chasin’ skirt at the most inopportune times. The twenty-first century sure has changed a lot hasn't it? And that's one hell of a rebound, considering just yesterday you were burying--”

“Man, just shut the hell up,” Sam interrupted, and Steve would’ve normally thanked him for interrupting at exactly the right time, but the bitter glare Sam shot Bucky from shotgun was totally unnecessary. However, a quick glance over his shoulder revealed that Buck was shooting just as terrible of a glare at Sam too.

Steve sighed. Apparently, the bitching on Sam’s side was returned on Bucky’s now and he just didn’t get it, they were both his best friends, what possible reason could they have to glare at each other like that? “Hey, can you two please get along?” 

“No,” they both replied in perfect unison. 

Great. The only thing they could do together was disagree. 

“Well.” Steve pursed his lips, pressing the gas pedal a little harder, whatever could get them there closer. “Let's hope the rest of the team goes better than this.” 

 

It didn’t. 

 

Sure, they were great, it was a hell of a relief to see Wanda safe, to have Clint on their side. 

And Sam’s recruit - Scott Lang, thief and apparently owner of another, weirder kind of supersuit - was at least. Well. Enthusiastic. 

Not to mention that the minute he put his hands on Steve’s biceps, fawning and fangirling like the USO days all over again Bucky interrupted the meeting with a snarky, squinty-eyes,

“We should get moving.”

A perfectly-timed announcement came over the speaker - in another language, again, which apparently Bucky could also entirely decipher, Steve _really_ needed to brush up on his foreign languages. 

“They’re evacuating the airport,” he translated and great, that meant they’d been found. 

Steve looked over his team, his ragtag of a loyal team, and told them the most important thing for battles like this. 

“Suit up.”

Usually that was followed by epic fight music and a cut to them all in uniform, but last time he’d said that to a little ragtag team like this they’d had sneak into a museum to steal his old suit so Buck would remember him and this time they didn’t exactly have a nice bunker to burrow into their equipment.

“Where the hell are we gonna change?” Clint looked around with his eyebrows on the ceiling and the last thing they needed on their team was more sass but here they were. “Are you seein’ somethin’ I’m not?”

“We’ll change in here.” Steve commanded calmly and he got five _are you kidding me_ looks back. 

“ _Here_?” Sam still sounded as done as he had yesterday. A dozen exchanged glances of hesitant silence before Wanda finally interrupted with a tight smile,

“I call the van.” She waved her fingers and hopped inside, slamming the door shut loud enough to make Scott jump, then the tension was broken and Lang decided to use that exact moment to inch closer to Steve with this vaguely over-eager smile. 

Yeah, Steve inched - okay, booked - it back to the car. 

A couple of huffs and aggrieved sighs, then people were pulling suits out of backpacks and this was the part of superhero life nobody really thought and/or talked about but unlike the comics, no one actually wore their uniform under their clothes. How nice it would be to be Clark Kent. 

“This is dumb,” Sam pointed out and Steve didn’t bother with the scolding _Sam_ because when there were this many people, Wilson was his damn right hand man and he was allowed to bitch what he liked. Just so long as it wasn’t to the face of Kings of powerful countries. 

Even if the bitching was to direct-quote mock Steve’s mission voice. 

“Gonna fight a war gotta wear a uniform,” Sam sing-songed an octave lower and Steve rolled his eyes, tugging the collar of the dirty white shirt over his head. Only really tight things fit under the suit, like _really_ tight, so that meant he’d have to strip down quite a bit before he threw on the red white and blue. 

That still had the Avengers symbol on the arm. He absolutely did not feel a rush of joy as he dug his fingers under the edge of the little A and ripped it off. 

There was a huff off to the left and Steve knew that amused sound well enough to know exactly who it was, and flicked the little symbol right at Bucky’s dumb face without looking. (He was shirtless, and Bucky hadn’t said anything about where they stood, and there was a chance he was shirtless right now too and Steve just. Did not want to go there.)

Based on the whirr of the metal arm, he was gonna say Buck caught it before it could hit him. Shame. 

“I mean, if you don't wanna wear a uniform, I will happily take the wings?” Clint offered, hopping into a pair of slightly bulkier but basically identical pants.

“No way, man.” Sam shook his head and Steve was too busy watching the exchange to anticipate the thud of the tiny circle of plastic flicked _hard_ at the back of his head. A hand instantly shot up to cover the spot, lips parting in an _ow_ and he spun around in offense before he could think better of it. “But if I did give them to anyone, it'd be the best sharpshooter in the world--”

Steve turned just in time to see Bucky perk up, eyebrows lifting in pleasant surprise as he turned to Sam, who was looking straight at Bucky with that same deadpanned glare.

“--which is most definitely you, Clint.”

The surprise shut down instantly into rolled eyes as Bucky scoffed, shooting a mild glare in return and Barton instantly put up both hands, pants nearly falling off his hips in the process.

“He said it, not me.”

Yeah, see, normally Steve would intervene at this point, maybe tell them all to get into battlemode and stop bickering, but he still hadn’t caught his breath from when he’d spun around to throw the little Avengers _A_ back at Bucky. 

Barechested, beefy Bucky. 

It didn't hit him that his chest ached because he wasn't breathing for a solid minute and a half. 

By the time he figured it out the sharp inhale was more of a gasp and those crystal eyes turned on him so fast Steve couldn’t’ve looked away in time if his brain _was_ working. 

Bucky froze, arms halfway through the sleeve holes of a tight black tank top he'd tugged from his backpack, and Steve had been trying not to look because he knew this would happen, he knew he’d end up staring like an idiot, a lovestruck terrible idiot. 

Steve was too busy trying not to gawk at Bucky, holding his breath cause God he knew he'd gained a lot of muscle mass but fuck, Bucky was as big as he was now.

Maybe broader, actually, he’d bet anything the muscles on those arms wouldn’t have the slightest problem shoving Steve up against that wall, wrapping his thighs around Bucky’s hips to fuck him hard and dirty under the dim lights and echoing shouts and--

Wow, okay, yeah, he felt a little faint. Battle plans. They needed a battle plan. He needed to think about something that wasn’t Bucky bending him over the hood of that car with a hand on the back of his neck and wrecking him nine ways from Sunday. 

God, he’d bet that metal arm would make bruises so deep they wouldn’t fade for _days_ \--

Battle plans. He needed a battle plan. Simple, it had to be simple, Stark was here, he had to _think_. Okay, distractions, they needed to split up Stark’s attention, they’d have a better shot in pairs-- 

In couples--

In twos, he’d put them all in groups of two and Clint should probably be with Wanda, he could secretly take Scott with him, obviously he’d go for the confrontation but Scott could be small enough to be invisible backup, which left Sam and Bucky together. 

Good. They could work together, learn to get along, maybe save each other’s asses or something. They were both Steve’s best friend, so he had absolutely no qualms divvying out the parts and pointing at those two last, declaring them as a team.

He was a little surprised though, when they both fired back instantly, in a pretty-pissed tandem,

“Why!?”

“Since when do either of you question battle plans? It makes the most logistical sense, Clint and Wa--” Steve started ranting and Sam zoned out, glaring over at Bucky. Only Barnes was looking just more and more amused throughout the entire speech and Sam could feel the pit in his stomach getting deeper and deeper. 

“--and I'm still the damn Captain of this team, are we clear?”

He knew it. He fucking _knew_ some shit like that was coming, he _knew_ it, this was why he didn’t wanna fucking work with the guy!!

Bucky Barnes, asshole of the entire century, bent right in half, back straight and dark hair swinging prettily around his sharp jaw as he tightened a strap across his thigh, looking up at Steve as leather creaked. Features schooled into the most innocent, wide-eyed submissive look Sam had seen in his entire lifetime combined.

“Yes _sir_ , Captain,” he drawled slow, lips wrapping around the words like there was something else in his mouth instead, one eyebrow cocked up in an amused dare, overly obeisant like he was just waiting for Steve to give him the command to drop to his knees, tip his head back and open those pink lips wide--

Steve cleared his throat, weight shifting awkwardly as he forced himself to breath out through tightly lips pursed in an _o_ , eyes slipping shut and head shaking just a little bit, trying to get a grip. Now was, again, really not the time to get all hot and bothered by the one-sided smirk Bucky was giving him from up under those dark eyelashes and. 

Alright, he could handle this like a mature adult, he could handle Bucky, he’d always been _really_ good at handling Bucky, maneuvering him into the most cramped of places, hands spreading strong thighs, straddling Steve with that same wicked grin as he tried to keep from banging his head on the metal roof of one of the Commando’s jeeps, grinding down on Steve’s lap as Steve pulled him closer and sunk his teeth into Bucky’s bottom lip, keeping him quiet as he could while the boys slept in tents thirty feet behind them--

He snatched the shield off his back, holding it in front of him and he didn’t care how damn obvious it was what he was hiding but these pants were tight enough without Bucky looking at him like that, what the honest fuck. 

The moment he risked a glance back at Bucky, those crystal eyes lit up all kinds of fire, bone catching on the crooked smile, snagging the plump bottom lip between his teeth and _dragging_. 

Steve made the most pitiful little sound and Sam glared, really sincerely glared at Bucky like he was gonna kick him off a helicarrier the next damn chance he got. 

“We’ll work together,” Wilson interrupted darkly, sliding red goggles over his eyes and glaring even harder. “Just can't blame me if a stray punch lands on his stupid face instead.”

The sneaky smile dropped from Bucky’s face instantly, turning to glare back at Sam, metal arm whirring as a fist tightened and Steve looked up at the low ceiling of the parking garage and offered up a pray of _please make him stop, or kiss me, I can’t fucking do this anymore._

 

Everyone else in the parking garage were basically just staring at this point. 

All three of them blinking rapidly, exchanging the-fuck glances. Wanda stepped out of the van to land quietly on her feet, wave confused fingertips in the direction of the glaring staredown and Steve’s shut eyes, tightly clutched shield.

“...what?

“Anybody know what the heck is happening?” Scott offered and Clint lifted one shoulder, still staring at the troublesome threesome.

“I have no idea. I'm retired.”

Wanda shrugged at Scott’s spinning raised eyebrows, but she was thinking about what Steve said, how he froze and missed a bomb because of the word Bucky.

Scott shook his head, buttoned up the last snap by his throat and scooped up his helmet, shining the giant bug eyes with a licked thumb while Wanda stepped to the side, a hand on Clint’s shoulder as she tipped her head. 

“Clint. Do you ‘appen to know if...Cap ‘n’ Bucky were...ahm. Romantically involved in the fort-ies?”

Clint’s head swiveled around, staring at her over his shoulder with wide eyes. 

“Nooooo,” he dropped incredulously, exaggerated and shocked and she rolled her lips in, gesturing a red-swirling hand carefully to indicate the way Steve was very pointedly trying not to look at Bucky and failing miserably.

“I think, maybe.”

“Jeez. And I thought Steve was the vanilla one.” Clint shook his head once and Scott poked out from around Clint’s other shoulder, the arms not-quite-crossed over his puffed-up chest to match the other two. 

“That metal arm doesn't look very vanilla to me.” 

Clint lifted an unimpressed eyebrow and Scott deflated a little, arms falling back down his sides. 

“What? It doesn’t! That’s some kinky shit, my dude.” 

“Okay,” Steve interrupted loudly, waving an arm at everyone. “You guys - Wilson, Barnes - head off for the hangar, keep your heads low and find the quinjet as fast as you can. Barton, Maximoff, take the back of the open Tarmac, see if you can find away around, stay out of sight until we can all meet up at the jet. Scott, wait here for me, I'm gonna go find a place to stash the rest of our stuff.” 

“What rest of our stuff,” Scott whispered, everyone turning to Steve for explanation.

It was literally just Bucky’s backpack and a pile of dirty civilian clothes. 

“Just. Get into position everyone, Scott if you get bored find somewhere comfortable on my shield, okay?” 

He just wanted Bucky to be able to have his backpack after this was all over, okay? He seemed pretty attached to it. They had three minutes to spare, he could find a damn place to store it while everyone took off. Thankfully, people _finally_ stopped questioning him and ran off in their pairs.

Even if Bucky shouldered past Sam and Sam shoved him hard back, they were headed in the right direction and keeping pace with each other and that was all Steve was gonna fuckin’ ask for at this point. 

The sleeve of the red Henley Bucky'd shoved carelessly inside was caught in a zipper, and Steve would swear to his dying day that’s the only reason he unzipped it, he really wasn’t trying to pry, not into Bucky’s life, not when Bucky hadn’t had privacy for so long. 

But when he unzipped the three inches to untangle the sleeve as he was running the zipper pulled open the rest of the way and out tumbled a little black journal. He nearly tripped over it, skidding to a stop to scoop it up, dusting it off apologetically as it registered. 

This was the exact same kind as the journal he’d found in Bucky’s apartment. Was it…

Steve glanced over his shoulder but no one was in sight, especially not Bucky, and he hadn’t freaked when Steve was looking at the first one he just had to fucking know if Bucky was okay, he’d tell him about looking the second they were alone but. 

It fell open in his hands and Steve stared at the top of the page. _Journal Intime de Mémoire, No. 2._

Only one page. He promised himself he’d only look at the one page. 

There was a diagram drawn, sideways, like a timeline with a few pieces carved out, Bucky’s mind mapped out in a single straight line - well, not so straight, crooked and wavy at some parts like he wasn’t sure. There were a few little dots, arrows pointing to patches of words. Brackets around a big chunk with the letters _WS_ scrawled over it. 

A littler piece labeled simply with _b4 arm_.

But it was the earlier brackets that had Steve staring. One around 1940-45, Bucky’s familiar beautiful scrawl defining _Serum Steve (wwii)_. 

The chunk before that was titled _Little Steve (apartment)_. 

The one before that, _Little Steve (brooklyn; Sarah)_. 

Like the war was...secondary. Like their home, his city, was secondary. Like Bucky’s life was somehow. Defined and cut into pieces based on _Steve_. Maybe...his memories were. Maybe, Steve was the only steady thing Bucky’d had in his life before he’d been the Winter Soldier, maybe the only frame of reference, the only point to base anything off of _was_ Steve. 

That was a surprisingly really depressing thought. Especially considering that he’d lost his frame of reference, when he’d fallen off the train. 

Steve almost closed the book at that. 

That’s when the star caught his eye. The star, drawn near perfectly, five little points with the connecting lines in the middle, hovering right over the year 1934. 

He’d assume a star would have something to do with Captain America, or maybe getting the arm, but it was smack dab in the middle of the Steve and Sarah line. 

Steve’s breath caught in his throat. 1934, when he’d still been living with his mom. 1934, when he was sixteen. 

When he was sixteen. 

Could that star. Could that be...when they got together? 

Did Bucky remember that? Remember that was the summer of their lives, remember eating popsicles on his front porch while Sarah ruffled their hair on her way past and Steve looked at Bucky’s red red lips wrapped around that popsicle, the twinkle in crystal as he glanced over, caught him staring and held Steve’s gaze, cheeks hollowing out as he sucked and blue eyes suddenly went wide, staring down at the concrete between his feet with his heart pounding so loud he could barely hear his mother call goodbye with a waving hand, counting the seconds before Bucky’s hand closed around his own and dragged him inside, mouth tasting so cold and sweet, still chilled and sticky as it dragged down the inside of his thigh-- 

“We're in position, Cap,” Sam’s voice interrupted over the line and Steve cursed under his breath, shoving the journal back in Bucky’s backpack and stuffing the whole thing, their dirty civilian clothes and all in the closest luggage storage locker, snapping the open lock shut, he’d just break it off when they came back. Fuck, he was a ways from Scott, he had to get back like _now_.

He took off for the open Tarmac, ordering breathlessly for Scott to meet him at the edge of the parking garage with the shield. 

“...we being me and your butt buddy - sorry, war buddy,” Sam was complaining over the comms and Steve didn’t have enough air to spare to reply to that. Which was apparently just fine, because Bucky replied enough for himself if the scuffle over the line was any indication. 

“Hey, you can’t flick me with the metal hand that’s not fuckin’ fair-- “

“Cut it out,” Steve huffed and the speaker in his ear crackled as something else scuffled before it finally went hushed with twin glares he didn’t have to be there to see. 

They’d get along eventually. He was sure of it. They just needed like, time. 

 

Which apparently was a commodity no one had enough of around here. He shouldn’t’ve been surprised General Ross set Tony on him like a bloodhound, but he was. At least a little. 

Maybe more surprised Tony had agreed, and was now pleading at him to actually fucking go with him. 

“...Ross gave me 36 hours to bring you in. That was 24 hours ago, can you help a brother out?”

That sounded….really gay, actually. 

If Tony only had any idea how many times Bucky’d used that line, beaming up at him ruffled and gasping from the dirt as he slid a hand over his uniform pants, groaned and looked up at Steve upside down from where he was _trying_ to fill out the papers and mission reports from the makeshift wooden-boxes desk they’d shoved in his tent but Bucky wouldn’t stop _touching himself_. 

“C’mon, Rogers, help a brother out,” he’d whine, smiling and biting his lip, one knee kicking up in invitation while Steve cursed and dropped to his knees, one palm cupping Bucky’s jaw as the other grabbed his wrist, pulled Bucky off himself and replaced the hand shoved down his pants with his own. 

Uh, yeah. 

Steve wasn’t gonna help Tony with his little problem of _the government trying to arrest the love of his life_. He was perfectly fine standing over here staring unimpressed at his ex-teammate instead. 

“You’re after the wrong guy,” Steve said, which frankly he’d been saying all along (even when he probably shouldn’t’ve been) but it wasn’t like Stark ever knew how to fucking listen to him. 

Or, well. Actually. 

Maybe Tony knew him a hell of a lot better than he let on. 

“Your judgement is askew,” Stark snapped back and well, if there was ever a true thing Tony said, it was that Steve was fucking _partial_ to Bucky Barnes, but this wasn’t even about that. 

“--your old war buddy killed innocent people yesterday--”

If this were any other situation, Steve would crack the fuck up. War buddy. Right. Sam had said that too, a few times, but at least he knew enough to correct it afterwards. Steve was pretty damn sure Tony had no idea that “war buddy” really meant butt buddy he’d go to fucking war over. 

Well. It looked like Tony was at least finding out the “go to war over” part pretty quickly. 

But he didn’t laugh, because now really wasn’t the time, not when Bucky’s life was on the line. Instead he interrupted with the most serious commanding voice he had, one last stitch plea for Tony to stop fucking hunting down the love of his life. 

“--and there are five more super soldiers just like him. I can’t let the doctor find him first, Tony, I can’t.” 

If Tony knew, understood the extent and depth his connection to Buck, he’d understand that. Tony didn’t know, he certainly hadn’t told him and he knew for a fact Sam didn’t. So that left Natasha but. He doubted it.

Only his squad really knew. Well. Ex-squad. 

“Steve,” Natasha interjected and the look of surprise as he turned around hopefully masked the deep pit of betrayal in his stomach. Because Natasha? She knew. She knew as well as Sam did how much Bucky meant. And here she was, standing at Tony’s side instead of his. “You know, what’s about to happen. Do you really wanna punch your way out of this one?”

Steve didn’t grace that with a fucking answer. 

He just looked away. He knew, but so did she, and she was still standing here at Tony’s side. That was goddamn answer enough. 

“Alright. I’ve run out of patience. Underoos!” Tony shouted and normally he’d be confused as to why Stark was shouting a nickname for little kid’s underwear in a fight but honestly not a lot Tony did surprised him anymore, including bringing a fucking child onto the battlefield. 

But hey, it turned out the kid was from Queens, and Steve was a proud Brooklyn bitch, so Steve didn’t feel half bad when he had to drop a truck on top of him. 

It was pretty clear though, from where he was flying up over the little bastard, that Bucky didn’t feel quite the same way. 

No, instead, Barnes froze up like the young voice behind that mask belonged to a tiny kid from Brooklyn instead. 

Sam knew Bucky’d fought a war where he’d had to kill children. Fought in alleys by the side of the kid he’d spent his life trying to protect, and Bucky Barnes froze right up when he heard the bright innocence in the voice of the gimmick who’d grabbed his metal fist easy as pie. 

He probably would have stared at the kid until the kid tangled him up in that weirdass web shit if Sam hadn’t chosen that beautiful moment to tackle the spider right in the chest of his fancy red and blue leotard thing.

But see, he wasn’t just saving Barnes. He wasn’t. It was like...a competition. Yeah, he was just proving to Barnes that he could keep his head in the fucking fight unlike some people and he most definitely did not just save his ass. 

Unless it was y’know, like some kind’a silent kick-ass very small and very silent thank you for Barnes keeping up with him in the terminal when they both knew fair damn well he could outrun speeding cars and could just haul ass to the quinjet and leave Sam in the fuckin’ dust. 

He was like, jogging to keep up (even Rogers and his smartass On Your Left never fuckin’ bothered to do that) and he would be offended if it was meant to be patronizing except that Barnes for once kept his damn pink pouty mouth shut and Sam didn’t know what to think about that. So maybe that’s why he tackled the weird spidermonkey thing off Barnes’ dumbass shocked face.

“You have the right to remain silent!” The kid shouted, shoving at Sam’s face and for just the briefest damn moment he almost was thankful for the team and partner he’d ended up with because he had to deal with this kid in any way that wasn’t throwing him violently he wasn’t sure he’d be able to follow Steve into battle after all. 

And then the _punk ass unitard wearing child_ shot that weird webbing shit on his wings and made him crash into a goddamn kiosk and he’d always hated kiosks but this was not how he wanted his revenge on the annoying mall peddlers.

But he didn’t have time to so much as complain before he was pinned to the banister with more of the disgusting webby shit. 

“Those wings carbon fiber?” The kid clung perched to the edge of a monitor column, cocking his head all curious and Sam was still trying to wiggle his fingers against the vaguely sticky-gooey webs on his hands. 

“Is this stuff coming out of you?”

“That would explain the rigidity-flexibility ratio, which, gotta say, that’s awesome man--”

“I don’t know if you’ve ever been in a fight before,” Sam interrupted and he already knew, No, no, the kid hadn’t been in a fight before in his entire goddamn short little life, “...but there’s usually not this much talking.”

“Alright, sorry, my bad.”

Fuckin’ new wave ass generation, who the fuck was Tony recruiting? Sam thought they’d been kinda reachin’ and desperate with Scott but low and behold, Tic-Tac was a goddamn expert compared to this shit. 

Although the kid did swing to launch him right off the second story and the impact of the strength on his chest while the banister shattered was gonna be as unpleasant as hell, except that. 

Bucky for some reason...leaped in front of him and. Took the hit. Right on the metal arm that absorbed the entire umph of the impact, although it unfortunately did not keep the glass banister from bursting and shattering them both straight for the ground. 

Sam supposed he shouldn’t’ve been that surprised, the guy was banging Steve Rogers for like a decade, it’d be weirder if some of the inherent goodness _hadn’t_ rubbed off. 

Oh god he did not want to think about either of them rubbing off--

They both hit the ground with matching dull thuds and Sam was somehow wrapped in a hell of a lot more spiderweb but at least, fuckin’ thankfully, Barnes had some of the shit tangled on him too. 

Because no, just ‘cause Bucky just took a hit for him, Sam did not forgive all the fuckin’ shit he’d been pulling - like ripping the _fucking wheel out of Sam’s precious car_ \- for the past two and a half years and he absolutely felt a wicked sense of glee as the metal hand got pinned to the ground with the sticky white thread and Bucky looked up wide-eyed at the kid like he was just the Most Shocked Beautiful Runway Model. 

“Guys look, I’d love to keep this up, but I’ve only got one job here today and I gotta impress Mr. Stark, so. I’m really sorry.” 

For as much as monologuing fucking sucked, Sam didn’t bother with the _Man, shut the hell up_ this time because monologuing idiots meant time for him to twist the display on his wrist and call up his sweet little secret weapon. 

The kid lifted his wrist and Redwing flew right in, shooting out a handcuff link and hauling the little red and blue ass right out the ceiling, crashing against the metal pole and dropping him straight for the damn ground. 

Fucking. Finally. 

Sam knocked his head back against the floor and he’d thought, for the briefest moment of bliss, that the worst part of this was over. Then of course the silence broke.

“You couldn’t’ve done that earlier?” Bucky asked dully, eyes closed and spread eagle as he lamented so disastrously with his perfect hair and shiny metal arm and fuckin’ sassy ass remarks and Sam stared up at the ceiling, cursed himself for ever meeting Steve Rogers, and tried not to think about how much he wanted to murder certain deadly assassins right now. 

“I hate you.” 

 

See, he’d thought that was the low. Oh hoh boy, was he wrong. 

He should’ve guessed, considering that he was the one wrapped up in this ridiculous fucking cocoon and Bucky barely had a splatter of the web pinning just one of his damn hands. 

Bucky got out first. He cut himself loose with those sharp metal shifting plates and then he was sitting up, long gorgeous hair swinging all covershoot-like and Sam glared violently from behind his red goggles. 

Then Barnes was pushing to his feet, shaking off the last of the white string as he looked down at Sam and lifted one dark eyebrow nice and slow. 

“C’mon man. We gotta get back to the fight, just cut me out.” He was being about as damn convincing as he could be. Barnes looked down at him and popped out a hip, crossing an arm over his chest to prop the metal one on it, inspecting non-existent fingernails as the plates whirred and shifted. 

“Steve needs our help. You gonna let him down? You know you need me, man.” 

Bucky sighed heavily, sounding just _so_ exhausted and Sam cursed under his breath, wiggling around in the webbing. Yeah he was pretty sure that just made it tighter. 

“You could be the hero for like three goddamn seconds, just. Cut me out.”

One of those broad-ass built shoulders lifted and Bucky shrugged down at him, mouth twisting sideways. 

“You couldda moved your seat up, but.” 

Oh my god. 

Oh my _god_. 

Sam was honestly gonna punch him right across those perfect fucking cheekbones.

“That’s not funny,” Sam told him and the twisted mouth peeked up in just a little bit of a smile. 

“It’s a little funny.”

Another little shrug and Bucky spun on his heel, whistling as he shoved both hands in his pockets and started strolling for the escalator. 

“C’mon! This is ridiculous! _Barnes!!_ ”

A jolting dancy little pause and Bucky spun around, supermodel hair swishing gorgeously, lit up fucking ridiculous crystal blue peering at him under comically narrowed eyes. 

“I really don’t see why I should.”

“Steve! Do it for Steve! He fuckin’ needs us right now, man, you can kick my ass and string me up all you want later!!”

“Ooo, kinky. You really didn’t strike me as the type--”

“BUCKY!”

“Alright, alright, I’ll cut you out,” he grumbled, dropping to a crouch beside Sam’s miserable little cocoon. “But you fuckin’ _owe_ me.”

“Whatever. Fine. I don’t give a fuck, just get me out of this shit and don’t fuck up the rest of this battle for us and you can have whatever the fuck you want.” 

“You’re so fucked,” Bucky told him cheerily, smiling like a goddamn demon then the sharp metal plates sliced right through the webbing and Sam most definitely didn’t cheer, although he did glare at Barnes the entire rest of the time it took for him to wiggle out of the sticky, nasty-ass white shit. 

Bucky smiled triumphantly the entire goddamn time. 

 

There were small condolences though, little tiny condolences that made his day a bit bright. Like the look on Bucky Barnes’ face when they showed back up at Steve’s side and were all running across the open tarmac to take on Tony’s team and Vision head-beamed the ground right in front of them, creating a smoking rivet while he floated in, flowy cape, blue suit, red skin, glowing forehead and all. 

The damn look on Bucky Barnes’ face was a perfect fuckin’ victory, because if Barnes had said _what the hell is that_ before, to the Spiderling, that was fuckin’ nothing to the floating robotic alien butler guy. 

Sam decided he really liked Bucky when he was a confused geriatric. Much easier to handle than the seductive little shit who kept trying to rile up Sam’s best friend. 

_Sam’s_ best friend. That’s why he made damn sure to be the one to say it. 

“What do we do, Cap?”

Even if he already knew Steve’s answer. Unfortunately. Very, very unfortunately. 

“We fight.” 

“This is gonna end well,” Natasha sighed which would be amusing, because it was that pretty redhead who’d jumped ship in the first place. Sam may hate Bucky Barnes’ guts with his entire being, but he was still reluctantly helping Steve sail his damn S.S. Stucky Titanic right into harbor. 

If they were in less life-threatening circumstances, Sam would happily trade places with T’Challa and be the one constantly looking to beat up Bucky Barnes’s ass. 

Although, really, T’Challa was kinda fucking badass, especially with that deep voice in his chill ass suit and Sam wouldn’t mind all that much trading places with Bucky Barnes either, let T'Challa beat up _his_ ass. If he’s bein’ real and everything here. 

On the concept of bein’ real, Sam was also pretty sure that Scott had positively no idea what he was doing here. If he just heard correctly, he called Clint “Arrow-Guy” over the comms. Yeah, didn’t even know the names of his teammates, nice. But like, on the other hand, Sam completely understood because he too, dropped everything to go fight for Captain America and that was _before_ he’d ever gotten to put his hands all over those killer biceps. 

Wait. He _still_ hadn’t gotten to put his hands all over those killer biceps. Why the _hell_ was he in this fight again? 

Some distant part of him registered that Barnes and Rogers were talking over the comms - he had to keep an ear out despite the asskicking he was doing because the minute either of them started sexting over the fucking radio communication he was switching to goddamn Tony Stark’s side to kick both of their asses. 

But thankfully they were just talking battleplans, albeit shitty ass battleplans. 

Because as much as Sam loved Steve and hated Bucky, he was about damn close to the captain of this helicarrier ship they were ever gonna have. And even if he wasn’t? It was Steve, and Sam’d do anything in the goddamn world. 

So when the idiot suggest he take Vision while Bucky got to the jet, Sam didn’t think twice. 

“No, _you_ get to the jet.” And he rolled his eyes before he amended it but dammit, he meant it. “Both of you.”

He did wish though, that he could see the surprise on Barnes’ face now. Well, hopefully, there’d be time for all that later. Way later probably, because frankly?

“The rest of us aren’t getting out of here.” 

It took an ounce or two of convincing, but Sam picked really good friends and the next thing he knew, their Great and Fearless Super Gay leader was calling back over the comms.

“Alright, Sam. What’s the play?” 

Bi. He supposed he was super bi, Sam was there when he’d been cryin’ his eyes out over Peggy. And ironically, Peggy had been there in ‘45 when he’d been cryin’ his eyes out over Bucky. 

Sam sure just hoped that Bucky didn’t have to be there for Steve to cry his eyes out over _him_ , because Sam sure as hell wasn’t planning on going down in this fight. 

Not against Stark and his fancy technology and his orange-juice-stealing ways, no thank you sir. 

So his best friend and his best friend’s long lost angsty boyfriend escaped in the fray and -- according to the comms, Sam’s admittedly not as long lost best friend (Nat) made it happen by taking out ~~his potentially in the future even if he didn’t know it yet boyfriend~~ T'Challa.

Remarkable. 

And that’s what happens in Civil Wars folks: a total and complete clusterfuck. 

 

Steve was just, y’know, hoping that now he and Bucky were alone there was. A chance, at least some miniscule chance of some other kinds of fucking going on. Here they were, adrenaline pumping and hearts racing, side by side and pulling off into the sky, the two of them against the world all over again. 

The two of them against the world, the way it’d always been, the way it always should be. 

It was the first time they’d been alone since. Since the helicarrier, actually, because Sam had been on the roof and German Special Forces had been in the stairwell the last time they’d been semi-close to alone and now they were really really alone and Steve was. Doing his very goddamn best not to think about it, staring straight ahead as he blasted off the quinjet for the sky, Buck waiting quietly in the seat behind him. 

The silence was thick, but not with quiet, with everything they hadn’t said yet and Steve was working through the perfect thing to say to break it when Bucky opened his mouth and beat him to it. Only the tone of that voice was just as broken as the silence was. 

“What’s gonna happen to your friends?”

Two of them against the world. 

The way Bucky said “your friends” was about the most depressing thing Steve had ever heard out of his mouth. When they were kids, the only friend Steve’d ever had was Bucky. In the war, he’d had the Commandos, but those were Bucky’s friends first, they took Steve in because he was Bucky’s too. 

But these, these were Steve’s friends, the first friends he’d ever made even if none of them knew him for shit - well, Sam did, at least he saw more than the superhero, he saw the soldier. And Natasha had at least tried, or at least hadn’t cared who he was or who he used to be.

These were Steve’s friends, and the way Bucky said it made it sound like he wasn’t. In that category. When Bucky was the only real friend Steve’d had for as long as he could remember. Bucky was his home. 

So yeah, Sam was in trouble, Nat was in trouble. But they’d signed up for all of this, they knew exactly what they were getting themselves into and Steve would do whatever he could to get them out of it. 

The sigh he let out came straight from somewhere deep, down to the bone marrow. He had no idea how far Tony would take this, what they’d do to Sam, Nat. Clint, Wanda. Even innocent Scott. But. It didn’t matter, Steve would be there, he’d find a way back to save them. 

“Whatever it is...I’ll deal with it.” He meant it. Whatever fucking happened, he’d do what he could. 

But that didn’t matter like this did. Like Bucky did. Sam was willing to make the sacrifice play, lay down on the wire Tony was planning to cut because he knew exactly how Steve felt, and that’s why they were here in this quinjet headed for Siberia while Sam took the brunt of the wirecutters back in Germany. The few friends he’d picked in his life had been really, really damn good ones. 

Sam understood what Steve chose. 

It just turned out, apparently, Bucky _didn’t_.

The silence behind him could mean a lot of things, but the next thing out of Bucky’s mouth was the very last thing Steve’d ever expected to hear. 

“I don’t know if I’m worth all this, Steve.” 

It sunk in slow. Slow enough he could feel it settling on his skin, realization seeping down to his skeleton as his lips parted in shock. 

Oh. 

He had. He had no idea where to even...begin. 

How did Bucky not…

Steve turned his head, opened his mouth to say something, over his shoulder, but he couldn’t even formulate the words. How did Bucky not know? 

Did he really not...get--

Steve closed his mouth, eyebrows knit as he looked at the blinking lights of the jet’s dash and realized he had no idea what the fuck to say. 

Once upon a time, seventy years ago Steve had sat in the broken, destroyed bar Bucky’d sworn away his life in, trying to drink himself to numbness when Peggy’d sat down beside him and told him it wasn’t his fault. 

Steve hadn’t believed her, but he sure as hell remembered what she said. 

Allow Barnes the dignity of his choice. He damn well must have thought you were worth it. 

Steve had been so sure he wasn’t worth Bucky’s sacrifice. He wasn’t worth Bucky’s _life_. And now, now Bucky was saying the same to him and it just...it couldn’t even register, how could he not know? 

This was Steve’s choice. And he had no idea how to even begin to explain to Bucky how damn well worth it he was. 

Steve would give his life in a heartbeat, would give everything in a heartbeat, already had. Bucky saw that, and said. Said he somehow wasn’t worth it? 

There were no words, no way to begin how to explain what he meant to Steve. But.

That really wasn’t what counted, was it? Bucky could mean everything in the world to Steve - he did - but. What did it matter if Bucky didn’t think he worth all this too? 

This was about Bucky, not about Steve. He wished more than anything that he could be enough, that the declaration of dear _god_ I love you more than the stars in the fucking sky could be enough, but Steve would never ask that of Bucky, not now, not when the horror was too big for Steve’s broad blue shoulders to cover. 

Not when this was all about Bucky anyways. He was still worth it. He was still so goddamn worth it. 

“What you did all those years,” Steve started slowly, wishing he could find a way to make it fucking sink in, sink in to Bucky as deep as it had for Steve. “...it wasn’t you. You didn’t have a choice.” 

The beat of silence and Steve turned all the way around, enough to see the look on Bucky’s face as he stared out the window and replied, docile.

“I know.” The crystal eyes were dark in the dim, shadows across his face as Bucky chewed his lip, the way he had when he was younger and thinking too hard about all the wrong things. It wouldn’t be enough, if Steve leaned over and pulled Bucky’s lip between his own teeth this time. Not when Bucky was looking like that. Not when those crystal eyes finally turned to him, deadset and deeper than Steve’d ever gotten to see. 

“...but I did it.”

Steve stared at the wall of the quinjet for a moment. He didn’t have a damn thing to say to that that’d count. He finally looked back forward, eyebrows creased and gaze downcast. 

He wanted to say _”so?”_ because to him, it really was, Bucky didn’t have a choice and for Steve it ended there, he never loved Bucky an ounce less for a goddamn second. 

But for Bucky, it wasn’t _so_. Just because Steve loved him unconditionally didn’t mean Bucky loved himself that way. Didn’t mean that Bucky wasn’t destroyed by what he’d done and really, the only thing that mattered was how Bucky felt about it and so Steve didn’t shoot back the fiery _so?_

Steve kept his mouth shut and stared at the clouds and wondered if Bucky’d hate him for how easily Steve forgave him, if he’d take it as Steve not understanding the gravity of what he’d done, how much he’d been affected. It wasn’t that at all. It wasn’t that at all, Steve just. 

Fuck, he needed a second. 

Steve reached forward, flipping the quinjet on autopilot. He hated flying planes anyways. 

But the Valkyrie had nothing to do with why Steve stood up abruptly (at least not directly, it was nowhere near lost on Steve how much he’d damned Bucky to by crashing that plane) and muttered something like _I’ll be back_ under his breath.

The last thing he saw coming was for Bucky to suddenly grab his wrist as Steve attempted to slip past him. He froze the minute Bucky’s hand was on him, rough skin circled around his brown fingerless gloves, edge of his palm brushing Steve’s bare knuckles. 

His heart was pounding right out of his chest as he fell perfectly still and looked down at the crystal eyes that were tipped up to meet his. 

“Thank you,” Bucky told him quietly and Steve’s entire world was collapsing. He had to blink twice before he managed to look away, eyes cutting down to his boots as his skin melted slowly away under that gaze, the steady grip. 

“Of course,” his mouth said for him and it really wasn’t his choice to keep going, he never knew how to shut up as a kid and he couldn’t be anything more than that punk kid from Brooklyn when Bucky was this goddamn close and quiet. “...you know I’d do anything for you, Buck.”

Because Bucky did know that, right? Anything in the whole world.

His downcast eyelashes couldn’t shade him now, not from the tiny crook of Bucky’s mouth, one side tucking up in the corner as his fingers closed a little tighter around Steve’s wrist and pinned him right to the butterfly board. They were so goddamn far apart and so fucking close Buck could probably feel his racing heartbeat under warm fingertips. 

“Anything?” He teased lightly and it was a joke, the type of joke Buck always doted but Steve’s knees went kinda weak and threatened to collapse out from under him. His free hand shot out to brace himself against the back of Bucky’s chair because he was physically crippled from not being able to touch Bucky right now, from being right here when they’d been apart and ruined for so long, Buck was holding his wrist steady and solid here in the drifting space of the universe that’d ripped them apart and Steve needed to _touch_ him, he was so fucking close to just...

...swinging a leg over Bucky’s lap and grinding down against him with a begging whimper and those shining eyes would drill right into his, take Steve right fucking here and now, brand him with bruises and promises to never be alone again--

The slightest tug on his wrist and Steve would’ve toppled right down into Bucky’s lap if the pull wasn’t for Bucky to stand, hand shifting to Steve’s shoulder, holding him steady from knocking over sideways. Steve’s hand followed right after, clapping over Bucky’s, inches from entwined as he turned wide blue eyes on the flickering dark ones. 

“Weren’t you going somewhere?” Bucky prodded and Steve could feel his pulse in every fingertip over Bucky’s knuckles, taking a moment to soak up the words, wonder what the fuck he was talking about. 

Oh. Uh, yeah, Steve’d stood up to go get space and. Huh, that was...it was probably a good idea to breathe before he straddled Buck outta nowhere.

“Yeah,” he managed, smile more of a grimace than anything as Bucky’s hand fell away and Steve’s feet somehow kept moving, all the way to the tiny bathroom in the back of the jet. 

He closed the door behind him quietly and knocked his head back against it, eyes shut as he tried to breathe, hands trembling. Couldn’t shake the feeling of Bucky’s skin on his, that ghost touch tracing over his wrist, up to his shoulder, over his collarbone and down his chest with a shiver--

No, no, he wasn’t supposed to let himself go there, dear god, not again, not _now_.

Fuck, now. Now, when they were completely alone, for the first time since this all started, now, his first chance he’d gotten to stop and breathe and--

Right now was the _exact_ perfect time. It was just the two of them on the quinjet, nowhere else to be and no cockblock or bitching best friends and. Steve could storm out there right now, take Bucky’s face in his hands and he was pretty sure by now, pretty damn sure Buck would let him kiss the fuck outta that scruffy mouth until neither of them could breathe but he wasn’t 100% sure, not 100. 

Or god, Bucky could come in here, come knock on the door with a bitchy comment about Steve taking forever and the moment he opened the door Buck could press him back against it with all that fire and fight and power he’d whipped motorcycles and revved the mustang’s engine with and pin Steve hard, jaw scraping Steve’s smooth perfect image, twisting tongue fucking rough down Steve’s throat--

Teeth sank into his bottom lip as he bit off the moan and palmed the bulge in tight blue pants but he needed to chill out, right now, he was not gonna jack off in here to his fucking buff-ass best friend when Buck was right on the other side of that door and. 

Just his luck, Bucky did knock, at exactly that moment. 

Steve nearly jumped out of his skin. 

“Hey, you still alive?” Bucky called and Steve sucked in a breath through his teeth, trying to get a grip and goddamn compose himself. 

“Yeah!” He shouted back, hopefully sharp and loud enough not to give away any of the way his hands were shaking as he shoved off the door to turn on a blast of water. Fuck. Fuck. Steve splashed cold water on his face like that could possibly change a thing. He just. It was the two of them, alone, and they were walking into one of the most dangerous missions of their lives, who knew what could happen after, this could be their last chance together and one of them should already be fucking the other over the aisle seat--

The door swung open with a rush of air to his damp temples, sharp clarity as he stepped back into the plane. Bucky was eyeing him and Steve forced himself to walk, kept walking all the way past the source of his gravity and crippled his legs enough to sit down in the pilot’s seat. He was fine. 

He could focus on driving the jet. And not freaking out about it, or Bucky, or anything. He could spend years apart from his best friend and love of his life then finally be alone with him for the first time in this _century_ and keep his hands to himself when Bucky just kept slipping away from him and he could. Fuck, he could focus on the empty white clouds. 

Empty white clouds they used to lay out in Central Park to watch on the cold days no one else dared venture outside, Bucky curled up on his side, eyes closed and nose tipped against Steve’s temple, _mhhm_ ing to all of the shapes Steve pointed out that Bucky most definitely was not seeing. Mouth pressing against the hollow of Steve’s cheek as his lips parted open to point out a dragon and really, Buck, are you even watching? They’re so picturesque, perfect and Bucky kissed his cheek again, slow drag of his lips on Steve’s skin like they were alone in their apartment instead. You’re so perfect, he whispered slowly and Steve huffed, shoving Bucky’s shoulder only to have his arm curl over Steve’s stomach, curled knees bumping against his hip as he scooted closer and Steve closed his eyes too, heart pounding right out of his chest and. 

Okay, yeah, it was a no on the clouds. 

Steve stared down at his hands, flexing his fingers under the brown leather before quickly tugging them up and off, bare hands curling as he tried not to think about how thick the air was, how hard it was to breathe, to move when it felt like swimming through that freezing ocean he’d crashed into again except the _lava_ version. 

He could physically feel how tense Bucky was sitting in his seat all the way from up here, he’d seen the tight clench of his shoulders as he’d sped past and it hadn’t shifted any less and Steve was. 

Yeah, okay, whoever said anything about him being strong willed clearly never saw him around Bucky Barnes. 

They were alone. He couldn't do nothing. He'd hate himself if he wasted this. He just couldn’t. 

The chair creaked a warning the minute he shot back up. He must look half mad, getting up and down and running around the plane like this but his hands were trembling like magnets too close to their source and unable to connect down, touch, be still, he couldn’t fight it anymore he _couldn’t_. 

Steve slid up behind Bucky’s chair, trembling fingers stretching out to the smooth strength he knew, oxygen frozen cautious in his lungs as he touched down from the clouds. 

Two warm, wide hands running carefully over Bucky’s leather shoulders as the dark hair tipped back to one side and Bucky looked up at him, expression guarded and eyes still so fucking bright in all this shadow. Steve wanted more than anything to lean down and kiss him like this, to lean over the new, familiar smell of the synthetic seats and press his mouth to Bucky’s quiet, close one but he just managed to not to, sinking his teeth into his bottom lip instead. 

Sucking in a breath and letting his grip tighten just the tiniest amount, making leather barely barely creak under his fingertips.

“You’re pretty tense,” he pointed out slowly and Bucky lifted an eyebrow. That used to be followed by the dropping of a low, heated “I know some surefire ways to loosen that tight body up,” but. 

But Bucky was looking at him with an eyebrow raised like he knew exactly what was supposed to come next, was waiting to see if Steve would say it but it wasn’t a dare, it wasn’t a challenge it was patience, still guarded, he didn’t know what that _meant_ and Steve just needed his hands on Bucky right now, any fucking way he could get them. 

“You’ll fight better if I work out the knots in your shoulders,” he offered and it was motherfucking cellophane but he didn’t care, he didn’t care when the lifted eyebrow was shifting into something bright, amused.

“I fight just fine, thank you.”

“I know,” Steve breathed, stupidly obvious and heated to hell, lips parted far enough those crystal eyes cut right away from his. 

“Yeah, you can, um. If you want.” 

“It’s a bit of a long flight,” Steve added on, overjustifying for the slip because he still didn’t even know what Bucky remembered, or thought, or anything but Buck just nodded, poker face so flawless and simple that Steve was dying, he was dying because what the _fuck_ did that mean, he just couldn’t fucking tell. 

The metal fingers reached up and tucked long hair behind his ears, brushing against his tipped neck, Steve’s hands as he sunk his fingertips into the muscles of those broad, thick shoulders and it was a good thing there was a seat between them because Steve was already hard.

God, the pale skin on the back of Bucky’s neck, what Steve would give to sweep that long beautiful hair aside and press his lips to that sensitive spot that’d always made Bucky jerk in his hands and whine, head tipping further like Steve could possibly press himself closer. 

The leather of Bucky’s suit kept creaking under his hands and Steve dug his thumbs in deeper, deep enough to feel the moment the muscle under his hands shuddered and caved, drawing a soft breath from parted pink lips that sucked all the oxygen right out of Steve's body. 

Oh, _fuck_ , his sweet--

Bucky shifted in his seat and Steve pulsed his hands closer on those broad shoulders, biting onto his lip hard as he tried not to think about the gorgeous back muscles that were shifting beneath his hands right now, how they’d look bare as they shuddered under his touch. 

Little circles along Bucky’s spine, pressing his thumbs up against the back of Bucky’s neck, over hot skin as that pretty head tipped, dark hair swinging over Steve’s fingers, silky soft and smooth, dark pushed aside to expose the back of that pale pretty skin, so delicate and fragile and trusting under Steve’s rubbing fingers, dragging up to the same dipping hairline and back down the ridges of the spine he used to bite and suck and kiss down--

Steve slid his hands back down Bucky’s neck, spread five pointed stars as they curved over leather again, tracing along collarbones and back up to the unfamiliar broad packed muscle of those shoulders, squeezing hard as he dug the heels of his hands into impossibly tight knots, held his breath as Bucky’s back arched just a little, curving away from his hands with the edge before the release. 

A wavering moment of hovering, teetering cliff and Steve shoved his thumbs in deep, hard, insisting and the knot finally gave, breaking free in a bursting shiver that shot Bucky’s mouth right open, and there was absolutely nothing to stop the low moan escaping that pretty, stretched throat. 

Steve’s jaw dropped, inhaling sharp and fast as control shot out the window for those drifting clouds and his hands closed around Bucky’s shoulders, squeezing tight and hard, hard enough Bucky’s head rolled to the side and he moaned again, this broken desperate little sound and that was it. 

Steve snapped. One moment his hands were on Bucky’s shoulders and the next he was swinging around the edge of the seat and pulling Bucky Barnes up by the straps of that thick black suit. 

Arm wrapped all the way around that tapered leather waist, both their pupils blown and lips parted as Steve dragged Bucky up, hips colliding the same time their gazes did and another sound escaped that wet, pretty mouth as Bucky looked up at him in a rush of wide-eyed, pounding heat and Steve leaned in to crush their mouths together. 

His balance was still shot from how goddamn close he was to breaking. He was way too deep for way too long. And Bucky was an assassin now. Buck was faster than him now. 

The last possible second before their open mouths collided Bucky ducked, slid right under the hand cupping his face and spun out of Steve’s touch, nearly skidding into the closest seat as he practically darted for the bathroom, dark hair flying with a shout over his shoulder about having to pee and Steve. 

Fucking collapsed in Bucky’s seat, the vaguest impression of his body still settling from the cushions and he didn’t bother trying to fit into the shape left behind when he was nowhere near fitting. 

Steve slid all the way down, laying his head against the cold wall of the quinjet and closing his eyes, willing his erection away as he wondered what the fuck was happening to him, what in hell he’d done to deserve this. What the fuck was going on with Bucky, what was he _doing_. 

They may be different people now, they may have spent a century apart, but Steve still knew Buck enough to know what that fucking look meant. He could tell, how much Bucky wanted it, he just didn’t _get it_. 

This wasn’t unrequited, it hadn’t been for a long fucking time, they’d grown up disastrously gone for each other so what the fuck was happening? Why? _Why_?

He lay there feeling rejected and shitty for the entire three minutes Bucky was gone. He’d sunk down further to stare up dejectedly at the ceiling by the time Bucky came back, quiet vibrations as he walked back to the front of the plane, closer closer rejection closer. 

The metal hand was so cold, even through the fabric of his pants, that Steve near about fell off the chair when the shiny fingers closed around his knee and squeezed on the way past. 

His throat choked on this awful sound instead then Bucky was folding himself into the pilot seat, knees up and head tipped back against the chair, about three thousand miles away. 

No, Bucky was _here_. Steve wasn’t ever letting him go again, he’d proved that and he’d prove that a dozen fucking times over again. 

Blue eyes shut and Steve swallowed, trying to make his stupid head shut up. They were on their way to a dangerous, dangerous fight. He’d barely barely gotten the upperhand enough on the Winter Solider to drag Bucky back to him, had nearly gotten ripped in half in the process and that was just _one_. This was five. 

In addition to the tiny fact that when Steve fought Bucky, they were on level playing ground because the Winter Soldier hadn’t cared about death and Steve sure as hell didn’t either when Buck was on the line. Now? Now, he had to stay alive, to protect Bucky. That meant a whole different kind of fighting and they were just so out of sync, stepping an inch and a half out of time, mouths seconds from colliding and hands a step too far from catching on. 

Battle plans. He needed to figure out a battle plan for taking down five Winter Soldiers…

What the hell. It wasn’t like Steve had any problem getting into fight mode when he had to. He was so fucking distracted right now, _that’s_ what he needed a battleplan for. For Buck. 

He couldn’t keep this up, this not-knowing. This dance that didn’t feel anything like the tandem Charleston he was used to, this was some modern twisted circling thing that was destroying him because he just wanted Bucky pressed up against his back, hands gripping tight as they moved together, kicking feet and laughing smiles and.

Okay. He could do this. Earlier, when he’d had only five seconds left before the German Special Forces had come in, he’d had time for just one question and he’d asked the most important, quickest one he couldn’t get out of his head - 

You pulled me from the river. Why. 

Bucky’d swallowed, looked at him with those big beautiful eyes and that sweet scruffy face and told him, I don’t know. 

If there was a bullshit lie on the planet, it was the fucking look in Bucky’s eyes as he told Steve he didn’t know. 

Hell, those were probably the most informative three words he’d had about Buck since he’d seen him again. Steve just needed to concoct the perfect thing to say again, except he had time now and it had to be _perfect_. Powerful enough that no matter what Bucky said in reply, Steve would have an answer. 

A knee-jerk reaction, something shocking and familiar and big enough that he’d be able to tell by what Bucky remembered if he really did want Steve and why the fuck he was doing this. 

‘Cause it just didn’t make sense, Bucky sure as hell sounded like he wanted Steve more than everything but he wasn’t acting like it and Steve was dying slowly. What could he _possibly_ say? What single memory, place would be enough to spark--

Rockaway beach. Of course. Of fucking course. They used to joke that they didn’t call it _Rockaway_ for no reason. It was the first time - wait, no, second, there was that unforgettable hill on Fourth of July - they had sex anywhere that wasn’t the safety of Steve’s locked bedroom and it was. It was the beach where so many things had happened...

More than just the summer of sixteen. But god, the summer of sixteen. That’d ruined Steve, he’d been destroyed with two words - _your Bucky_ \- and sixteen had flashed so suddenly and destructively that he’d nearly crippled for the ground. 

Maybe Steve could get seventeen to flash for Bucky. 

He was gonna damn well win him back. And this was how he was gonna do it. 

Seventeen.

They didn’t say a single thing for the rest of the ride. It wasn’t as long as Steve thought it would be, because the next thing he knew Bucky was getting out of his chair for Steve to land the quinjet in the ice. 

Buck waited for the wheels to touch down, stable and secure, waited for Steve to stand too before he started for the back. Pulled out the weapons shelf. 

Everything was quiet and serious and Steve stepped up next to Bucky as the back ramp slid open, cold wind whipping in. Here they were, two soldiers who used to mean the world to each other. No matter what else ever happened between them, this thing between them had always been so pure. 

Steve was an artist and Buck made him a work of art. Bucky was the moon in Steve’s sky and Steve made him warm as summer, even when everything was so goddamn cold. 

That whipping snow. That was his in. 

Steve looked over, a stolen glance at that stunning, solemn profile before he was staring out over all that untouched crystal white, the blank canvas. Lifted pencil and here he goes. 

“You remember that time we had to ride back from Rockaway Beach in the back of that freezer truck?” The popped neck of his uniform was cutting into his neck when he turned to look at Bucky and Steve didn’t notice it at all. 

They kissed in the back of that freezer truck. He _remembered_ Bucky's lips being so damn cold on his, the icy nose nuzzling his cheek as Bucky whispered cute and hushed, welcome to my world, s’how you always feel in winter, Stevie. 

The night had ended with splashing waves and tackling laughter in the crystal blue water and their hair had still been damp when they’d hitched the ride with Bucky’s smooth talking in the back of that _freezing_ trailer. He’d been so cold Bucky’d bundled him right into his chest inside of minutes, teeth chattering as their lips pressed together again and again in the dark chilled freedom where they couldn’t be seen. 

That time we had to ride back from Rockaway Beach in the back of that freezer truck. 

Bucky was looking back at him with his eyes squinted just a tad, like he was recalling back through the seventy year time gap and Steve lifted his chin, trying not to give away how goddamn much he still felt the ghost of Bucky’s thin arms wrapped around his shivering torso. 

“Was that the time you used our train money...to buy hot dogs?” One side of Bucky’s mouth tipped up in this pure, honest smile just for him and Steve’s brilliant plan was backfiring because Bucky was looking at him like that and Steve’s chest was actually convulsing into a tight clenched mess under this branded star on his chest. 

But in all reality here, it wasn’t Steve that spent their train money, the hot dogs were a perfectly great idea, especially considering that Bucky also crinkled up his nose in amusement anytime Steve handed him anything that was even slightly phallic in shape, like those damn red popsicles or those damn hotdogs, making a show of fitting the entire thing in his mouth at once. 

Mmhhm, yeah, those hot dogs were definitely not the worst buy of the night. Nowhere near it.

“You blew _three bucks_ tryin’ to win that stuffed bear for a redhead,” Steve corrected and there was still so much spite and underlying jealousy even if he was smiling halfway through the accusation. Couldn’t help it, Buck was, Buck was smiling at him so bright and happy and amused he couldn’t help but follow Bucky’s head tip with his as those beautiful crystals looked down and Bucky _smiled_. 

Really smiled, eyes crinkling up and beaming bright, stretching wide across his face with that distant fondness Steve could barely look away from, flicking back to the snow for the briefest moment before he broke, just leaned over and pressed his mouth to those deepened lines. 

Steve used to announce that one day when the crinkles next to Buck’s bright eyes crowed out further Steve was gonna kiss them more than the dimple in his chin and Bucky would always giggle and try to shove him off while Steve held him down and peppered kisses over all the lines on Bucky’s face. 

There were so many more lines now, laughter lines and stressed creases and Steve wanted to hold Bucky close and still and softly gently quietly kiss them all, kiss them for every serum-healed scar Steve didn’t get to press his mouth to, trace the lines and marks and honest growth, the rings around their broken weathered tree trunks with all those infinite stories to tell. 

All of their stories. 

“What was her name again?” Bucky asked, smile faded back into just contemplative and Steve was still looking out at the snow but the question had barely left those pink lips before Steve blurted out the name of the damn redhead he most definitely had not forgotten. 

“Dolores.” The grimace-smile barely lasted a second before he was looking back down, eyebrows up as he reminded Buck of all those moments he’d spent not looking at Steve. “You called her Dot.” 

He’d been smiling when he’d remembered something Steve had done, but it’d faded the moment Steve brought up some girl he’d flirted with and. 

Bucky didn’t even remember the girl. Obviously Steve had, she’d been intruding on his precious time with his Bucky. Not to mention the tiny detail that Steve remembered positively everything about Bucky Barnes, especially his damn women escapades. 

The trademark lopsided grin was still branded in Steve’s memory, even if now Bucky was just shaking his head in memory, forehead crinkling as dark expressive eyebrows lifted. There was so much, they’d spoken five sentences about some time at the beach years ago and Steve’d learned more than he had in the past day of running around the world with the Winter Soldier at his side.

Bucky tipped his head, long eyelashes cast down over that pretty face as he shook his head at Steve, at the memory, at the world. 

“She’s gotta be a hundred years old right now.” 

Steve lifted his eyebrows right back, looking over at his best friend standing here beside him, 2016 and just as goddamn in love as he’d ever been. 

“So are we, pal.” 

Here they were, right back in 1936 as Steve reached over and clapped a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, gripping his collarbone tight enough to rock him with the force of it, just a gentle shake. A reminder, the same promise in the grip Bucky’d caught him in the first and last day Steve was ever alone. 

So are we, pal. 

They both paused, his hand on Bucky’s shoulder, touching him, connecting their swirling mad worlds and the wind was blowing cold and Bucky just looked at Steve, looked at Steve and. Fuck. 

Steve was looking right back, they were both ironically frozen right up again and treacherously warm, just staring for the briefest moment. Steve’s heart was pounding in his wrists, fingertips, all but pouring out of him as he lifted off to clap a hand on Bucky’s shoulder once and pull away, dipping his head a bit to see under the blank opening, look out into the snow. 

The wind was blowing small snowflakes inside. They were dancing, white crystals and intricate designs swirling lightly around Steve’s face like gravity. 

Steve looked like an angel. Surrounded by sparkling dancing crystal, with his softly spiked blonde hair and his little glowing smile and his light light eyes and the white was clinging to his eyelashes as he blinked slow and there was just the slightest flush of chilled red disappearing down his neck, under the tall blue collar that was still the wrong blue to match his eyes and Bucky was just staring at him. 

Blew three bucks on some redhead.

Yeah, he remembered that. And he’d just about opened his mouth to shoot back the first reply that popped in his head, 

“--and you blew one.”

“One what?” Steve would ask and Bucky would give him that shit of a smile. 

“Buck,” he’d reply. 

Yeah, he remembered that just fine. 

The two of them cramming into the tiny stall of the carnival bathroom, his fingers fumbling against the door lock and blood pumping from how risky it was as Steve sunk to his knees and Bucky tried not to scream.

But Bucky didn’t say that. He was thinking of Steve, flushed and bright-eyed on his knees, scraped raw knuckles rucking up Bucky’s shirt and rubbing scratched skin against his bare hips as he threw his head back against the dirty bathroom wall and instead he said,

What was her name again?

And fuck, it was almost funny how fucking fast Steve had blurted out her name, some girl Bucky had honest to god forgotten. 

Frankly, he couldn’t believe it’d been 95 years and Steve still didn’t get that he’d always been gay as fuck for him, that he’d played that game specifically only for the eyerolls Steve gave him after every missed shot. Serum or not, Steve was blind as shit. Why the fuck did he remember her name? You know what Bucky remembered? He remembered that Steve’s cheek had a little white scar shaped like a J and his eyes were the exact color of the ocean that day and that Bucky kept looking at the ocean waves thinking about how goddamn lucky those splashing white caps were to get to be the prettiest color in the world today. 

Dolores. You called her Dot, Steve told him and that endearing-as-fuck jealousy showed through, even fucking now, a literal century later but that hot temper had always been quick to burn green too. 

Same way it had then when Bucky'd kissed her cheek in apology for not being able to set that mauling carnival bear free and Steve pouted, little arms crossed over his chest and long eyelashes casting shadows over delicate cheekbones Bucky was dying to smother with kisses as he shot him the apologetic eyes he had to and then the moment they were alone - yeah, that was where the bathroom and the knees came in.

Steve was still jealous, and Bucky was pretty sure it was clear as hell how unpleased he’d been to sit in the back of that _stupid fucking_ VW Bug and watch Steve mack on some pretty blonde. 

But Bucky hadn’t mentioned that either, didn’t say _you’re still the only one, can we kiss now or what_? Instead he made some offhand comment, some remark about how much goddamn time had passed since that day they both remembered the opposite too-detailed details of. 

She must be a hundred years old.

And then Steve had replied. With that. 

So are we, pal.

Steve reached over, clapping down heavy on his shoulder and told him, _so are we, pal._

Steve touched him, rocking Bucky with the force it and the only thing Bucky could think about was the way Steve used to rock their bodies together in the dim flickering tents of that godforsaken war and Jesus fuck, he was upset. 

Pal. Did Steve just call him….pal. Yeah, Bucky’d called Steve pal most of their lives, but never when. Never when they were talking about times they’d had sex, Christ. Steve was a hell of a lot more than his pal. Pal, _pal_ , that was for when they were just being best friends, buddies, pal, that was. Okay, that was the most ridiculous thing he’d heard out of Steve’s mouth. 

Rockaway beach, he ended their conversation about Rockaway beach by calling Bucky his fuckin’ pal?

Pal? Pal?? Was Steve being his fucking pal when he dropped to his knees and took Bucky in his mouth deep enough to make those blue eyes water over like the ocean waves? Huh? Was he being a fucking _pal_?

Okay, he. Really could not do this anymore. 

It’d been a bad idea, he’d known from the fucking minute he saw Steve standing there in his Romania apartment in that uniform Bucky used to be able to unzip faster than Steve could, that he couldn’t. He couldn’t let them go back down that road. 

How could they possibly go down that road? 

After this was over, the second it was over he had to shove Steve back out the door but. How could he do that now? Now that he’d told Steve - I’m not worth all this and Steve’d had that look on his face. Still looked at Bucky like that. 

Still brought up fucking Rockaway beach. Said those words, easy as--

Seventeen. _Cемна́дцать_. 

~~There was more than one reason why it was an activation code trigger.~~

~~More than one reason why they didn’t spell out his whole birthday - 1, 9, 1, 7. Because 1, 9 & 17 was a hell of a lot more poignant.~~

Seventeen. 

When Bucky was 17, Steve was 16. Seventeen was Steve’s ankles hooked between his curled toes and secretive tucked away smiles and shoving hands in pockets that weren’t his own and whispering daylight sheets tangling around skinny legs as Bucky wrapped an arm around that concave little stomach to tug a giggling boy back into his chest and whispered all the things his best friend had no idea how long he’d meant--

Seventeen was the best year of his life, the year Steve spent Christmas Eve kissing Bucky’s neck instead of coughing up a lung, seventeen was dizzy with how bright Steve’s laugh was as Bucky twirled him into his chest to land with little fists tucked against Bucky’s sternum, blonde flopping outta shining blue as his head tipped back to look up dazed, awed, sweet and swaying and tugging Bucky’s heart right out with those bloody little fists--

Seventeen was heated fingertips, chin propped on curled hands as he lay on his bare stomach on Stevie’s little twin sized bed and watched him sketch for hours that Steve didn’t even notice slip by, all that bright sugary sixteen-year-old youth making him wide-eyed and stuttering surprised as Bucky kissed him deep and sincere as he knew how, heart pounding, eyes averted when he caught all those glances from Sarah he thought over way too hard, pulse skipping as he couldn’t fight the giddy smile down at the tattered boots running down the sidewalk to Steve’s front door step, scooping that little body up into his arms, lips colliding drunk on elation and pure sweet adoration--

Most importantly, seventeen was the first time Bucky dragged Steve down in the fading summer sun and kissed spun gold as he whispered against that split-lip cotton candy mouth, _yours_.

Желание - longing. 

_Longing_. 

They coded seventeen with longing, with daybreak, so the only thing reverberating in Bucky’s empty body was the ghost of the feeling that’d slipped a thousand tingles down his fingertips, watching dazed, tracing skin, blue eyes squeezed shut as he kissed down Steve’s bare stomach, fingers curling against those slender hips tight, the sun breaking early over the horizon as Steve dug artist fingers into his skull and exhaled the word that’d painted Bucky’s soul gold in one breath,

 _Mine_.

Just nine words.

It only took nine words and Bucky fell, straight out of Steve’s arms and tumbling, _freight car_. Rebirth, _one_ , the hope he’d starved until he was clutching the newspaper National Icon Dead to follow into the jaws, _homecoming_. Crash as he hit the bottom without Steve, love of his life gone, _benign_ , another digit off his birth to die with, _nine_. Only thing he had left, _furnace_ when all he ached for _daybreak_ was gone, slipped from reaching fingers with fading

 _seventeen_. 

Metal now, humans didn’t end _rusted_ and the ghost was the only thing haunted because he never could shake it, could never once shake it. 

Желание.

Longing. 

And seventy years later,

_Bucky._

 

So here he was, skin still burning from where Steve’d touched him through all those layers and they weren’t on a beach stretched out naked and warm in the sun. They were in the middle of the fucking snow, colder than hell which was a phrase he was pretty sure he had permission to absolutely use now, he had first-fucking-hand experience.

The snow was where he’d lost Steve, the last time. In the damn mountains, on that train. And here they were again, snowflakes sticking to Steve’s lashes the same way blood flecked in the messy blonde when tanks and buildings and people were exploding. 

And Steve was just walking for the open doors of That Place, another pitstop on the railway to hell he’d barely gotten off of. When Steve’d asked him, are you ready to follow Captain America into the jaws of death, Bucky fucking meant the hell no. 

But here he was again, following Steve, three steps behind him - three steps too far - and twice as terrified to lose him, spinning to check behind their shattered spines, keeping a solid eye on Steve’s six and it was so goddamn cold he could feel it in his exhausted bones and he couldn’t stop fucking thinking about Steve.

About how warm that rippling muscle was, strong and wrapped around Bucky from behind as Bucky shivered in the freezing European forests and Steve kissed the hairline on his neck and squeezed his bruised ribs until his skin defrosted enough to slip into sleep. 

About how long it’d been since he’d been defrosted enough, warm enough to sleep like that. 

He couldn’t…if Steve. If Steve was still here. Strong solid hand on Bucky’s shoulder, rocking them together with that _look_ on his face. 

How was he supposed to keep fighting it all? He’d done everything in his fucking power. Not to kiss Steve. 

Not to damn Steve to him again. 

_Everything_.

But that resolve had been slipping like fucking hell from the minute he looked over in that car and saw those blues on him, lips parted and squirming, turned on to the high heavens and white-knuckled fists that were all for him and. 

He didn’t even know he had a fucking sex drive anymore. But surprise, Steve Rogers lit him on fire as fucking always. 

He thought he'd made it pretty clear by hiding for two years that Steve wasn't supposed to come for him. 

But. Of course, Steve never could resist Bucky when it came to _that._

God. What that would be like. To hold Steve close and let that hard hot muscle fuck him senseless, take him out of his head in a way Hydra’s brainwashing team could never dream of. 

To touch again, with no intentions to hurt. 

To be touched. To be _touched_.

Bucky was starved and Steve was standing inches away with so much more than the cure. 

“He can’t have been here more than a few hours,” Steve said, slipped right back into battlemode, advancing on that door in the cold and Bucky was so distracted he couldn’t think about a damn thing besides those heavy artist hands. 

“Long enough to wake them up,” he managed but it sounded all off and strange as he let the wind whip his hair around his face, just staring at Steve’s spine, overwhelmed. 

And followed him right into the dark. As always. 

It was a hell of a good thing he’d already gone through the hell of remembering all this, he wasn’t sure he could handle Winter Soldier flashbacks on top of the way his heart was fucking pounding right now. 

He’d hinted to Steve how dangerous these guys were, but see, Bucky knew first hand. He and Steve were good, they were one of the best teams on the planet, but these _soldiers._ Bucky just. Didn’t really see how they were gonna make it outta here alive. 

Fuck, he didn’t wanna _die_. Not right now, not when Steve was standing there less than a foot away, all those muscles tensed up as he inched his way down the dark hallway, headed for the doorway Bucky’d pointed to. 

They were so close, Steve was right here, his shoulders, his sloping back, that ridiculously tiny waist all wrapped up in red and white. The solid curve of his hips, tracing down that fantastic ass, strong as hell thighs. The defined line he was sure was still arching on the calves beneath blue fabric, knobby anklebones, big soldier boots housing the feet he used to throw in Bucky’s lap with a tipped-back groan. 

That was his Steve, his beautiful Steve, roots of his hair still dark and coarse at the base of his skull, the same fucking ears of course his ears hadn’t changed but those were the same ears Bucky used to cup with his hands when they got so cold, giggling as Steve whined but Bucky was gonna freeze his damn lips off nibbling on Steve’s icy skin, that’s what. 

How fucking selfish could he be? Steve came back for him, Steve believed in him, Steve wanted him, wanted him _bad_ and Bucky had to be the fucking mature one here. You know, small things, like not starting a fucking war just cause he hadn’t been properly laid in seventy years. 

Okay, obviously he knew it was about more than that, he’d have to be blind and stupid and - more importantly, and quite impossible - not know Steve to ignore the fact spelled out in gigantic ass words across the entire screen: Steve still loved him. 

Fuck. Steve still loved him, how could Bucky _leave_ again? Now that Steve knew, now that they’d touched and looked each other in the eye, now that he had to sit in that quinjet pilot seat and watch Steve go through fucking hell curled up in his, eyes closed around all those stress lines on his face. 

When the hell was the last time Steve got some good quality sleep? Who the hell was taking care of his boy? They hadn’t even stopped for food, which wasn’t a problem for Bucky considering that he was pretty used to not getting much to eat, but if he remembered correctly - he did, by the way, thank fuck for plums - Steve ate like 19 times a day, the serum made his metabolism burn four times faster, thank you very much. 

Don’t get him wrong, Bucky adored Sam Wilson, but why the fuck did Steve have bags that deep under his eyes? Why the fuck was he so goddamn quiet all the time? When was the last fucking time he smiled? 

How was Bucky supposed to leave his boy like that? He’d told himself he’d have to, that it was the only way to protect Steve but. 

But Bucky was being ripped apart by a thousand lives and the only one he wanted was the one back in Steve’s arms. 

They finally reached the elevator. Bucky stepped in first, counting every fucking second Steve was out of his sight for the three he was then Steve was stepping in beside him, pulling the grate shut and straightening up, shoulders squaring straight to Bucky instead of the front. 

Bucky’d been facing Steve already anyways. 

And here they were, seventy years later, crammed in this tiny elevator riding down to the most dangerous fight of their lives, a foot and a half apart. Steve had his mission face on and they were just looking at each other, just looking like neither of them could fucking imagine looking anywhere else.

Bucky clenched his jaw, staring at the bright white star on Steve’s chest instead of that deadly spitfire mouth, the draw in his chest he could feel all the way from over here and Bucky’s heart couldn’t stop pounding. 

His eyes finally flicked up to Steve’s and Steve nodded at him - low and slow and serious, air fucking crackling from how goddamn unnecessarily close they were standing but Steve was gravity, there was so much gravity. A single sun to drag the moon in circles forever and Bucky managed a weak nod back, just staring at those dark blue eyes. 

Steve. 

The way Steve was looking at him, that dead-set serious mouth, the thousand and nine promises in those steady, sincere blues. A noise creaked above them and the tension in the elevator cables couldn’t fucking compare to the palpable waves weighing down the goddamn air he was trying to breathe in here. Fucking shoddy-ass lungs, gasping on the sand, eyes up on the sky if he could only just lift his goddamn head out of the shadows, take his first breath into the sun--

Sharp swallow and fuck it, he tried. He really fucking tried. Bucky lifted his eyes to the ceiling, let it be the noise, the tension cables, he lifted his eyes and God help him he tried. 

But it was Steve, this was Steve, God save them both.

They were about to die anyways, right? Might as well go out doing the best thing he'd ever done. Bucky took one last deep breath, checked the safety on his rifle and launched across the forever small distance between them, crashing right into that fiery blue and kissed Steve Rogers square on the mouth. 

Fourth of July fireworks went off somewhere in the night above their tangled smiles, red and blue shooting down Steve’s spine with Bucky’s nails, white and silver up his chest with Steve’s chilled fingertips, summer warm burning out all the freezing cold and they were seventeen. 

Their mouths collided, smooth and wet locking together like steel, the sharp inhale of smoke curling off Bucky’s tongue, jaw tipping to the side to scratch across all that smooth pretty skin, pressing hard against soft caving pink lips-- 

Steve gathered him up and Bucky's hand was cupping the helmet and Steve’s shield was bruising his thigh but Bucky’d never been more alive and free in his entire goddamn life.

Solid and hard enough he could feel it in his chest, starburst of fire on his lower back where Steve’s free hand was holding him pressed close, everything spinning bright and deoxygenated from overlapping mouths until his lungs were tightening up, fingers curling with a whirr against the hard blue plastic. 

Their lips broke apart on a shared inhale, barely a centimeter away before they were gasping bright enough to suck all the air out of the room and Bucky would be choking if his entire body wasn’t lit up light as exploding gold. 

He leaned back a touch, lips still parted as he watched Steve, the hand on his back wrapping around to his hip with the distance suddenly between them, long dark eyelashes fluttering over porcelain skin before they finally lifted to reveal the dark, shocked blue.

Pretty, wet pink lips that hadn’t changed a damn bit in the years were parted around whatever desperate, broken thing Steve was gonna confess next but after all this time Bucky still knew him too well and he beat him to the punch, for maybe the first time in their punching lives. 

“That was late,” Bucky told him very seriously and Steve instantly went red as the stripes on those gorgeous abs. 

“I'm gonna kick your ass,” he breathed, gaze flashing bright at the tease but it’d just been so fucking _ironic_ when Sharon had said it, she had no fucking _clue_ what late was, no matter how long she’d been waiting on Steve, Bucky promised he and his nine decades of living had been waiting a little tiny, tincy-wincy bit longer. 

Bucky leaned in close, metal hand sliding down to cup the very thing Steve had just threatened to kick, squeezing slowly and watched Steve light up like fucking fireworks - one side of his mouth crooking up in a half smile as Steve hung on a goddamn wire under the sharp angled shadows of his uniform and Bucky strung out just as suggestive as he’d told Steve to keep that outfit seventy years ago,

“I hope that's not all you do to my ass.”

He didn’t have a pint to sip and cock an eyebrow over, but that didn’t turn out to be necessary. 

Steve slammed him up against the wall so hard the leather made a thud, dark hair swinging in his eyes as Bucky wrapped his killer thighs around Steve’s waist - literally, he’d killed so many people with these things, RIP Steve Rogers from this goddamn moment on - and all the metal plates in his arm recalibrated into fight mode, locking a violent five-pointed bruise into Steve’s bicep, red white and blue shield clattering for the ground in perfect time with Bucky’s rifle. 

Loud as the gasp out of Bucky’s mouth, the hungry growl rumbling under Steve’s throat as he crashed their mouths back together and grinded up against him, already hard enough to feel the heat, pressure through their layers of uniform. Bucky couldn’t stop the high whine tumbling from his throat into Steve's fiery mouth.

He fucking loved Steve in uniform and making out with him in the full getup was fuckin’ great, but Bucky really needed that blonde hair between his fingers right now. 

The pressure strobing between their mouths had enough suction to pop loud and wet when Bucky tore his mouth free. Steve groaned at the sound, downright delirious as he rolled his hips forward, rucking heat over heat from how close they were pressed with Bucky’s legs spread like this, dragging a shiver up his spine as Bucky’s new metal fingers got on board real quick with the ones hella familiar with this.

Slipped off the chin strap, tugging Steve’s helmet up and off, then it was tossed aside with another clatter and Steve’s tongue was back on his, ravishing his mouth like it’d been a lifetime apart - oh wait, that’s right, it fucking had been. 

It fucking had been and Bucky slid his right hand over the back of Steve’s neck, under the popped collar of his uniform where he was flushed and warm, up to the short dark roots and shoving up through the soft blonde to scratch his fingernails over the crown of Steve’s head, tipping them closer harder with his hand as he pushed out his chest and caved his body down in a tight roll against Steve’s strapped up, fucking gorgeous body. 

The stuttered inhale against his lips was followed up real quick with desperate, shiny teeth sinking roughly into his bottom lip and Bucky rolled his erection forward up against Steve’s disastrously turned on state again. But fuck, was he unprepared for Steve to meet his hips in tight little shoving circles that were spinning a spiral of emerald city fireworks up his spine, electricity racing through bones to the tips of clutching fingertips. 

Bucky was going positively mad, moaning and crying out and carrying on and nipping Steve’s mouth, panting like Steve was eight inches inside him instead and Steve was worse, downright dizzy with how Bucky sounded, from all that muscle pressed up against his heavy hands, all that nonsense and shit Bucky could still read off him like a fucking book and.

He was already scrambling for Steve’s belt before it hit him. Metal fingers scraping along the buckle, complicated clasps to clank like seaglass windchimes when he suddenly froze, dark hair flopping to the side as he lifted his head, met those beautiful swallowed-up-black eyes, driving a thousand summers of heat into his forgotten soul. 

“Wait. Wait, Steve, wait, there's five deadly assassins in this building waiting to kill us.”

The sun paused at noon, baking his skin back gold in the briefest moment as they stared at each other, eyes locked, long hair swinging around his jaw, inches from brushing Steve’s and it all sunk in.

“Fuck,” Steve groaned and Bucky tossed his head back against the wall, dark hair tumbling as he looked up at the ceiling for strength and tried not to think about how high and breathy his voice shot, 

“God, I want to.”

It was probably not the brightest thing to say, involuntary and true as hell or not. Steve’s mouth was back on his in seconds, rough hand gripping Bucky’s jaw to drag his head back down, let their tongues slide back together desperate and needy. 

Steve was kissing him _hard_ and it was instinct again that had Bucky's metal hand tightening on the back of Steve’s neck, squeezing strong, knotted muscle with a loud whirr. Steve went right weak at the knees, legs giving out enough to collapse forward, catching himself against the wall with both forearms, caging Bucky in with his body and shoving their erections together hard enough to make Bucky squirm and breathe high-pitched and ruined.

“After,” Bucky broke off to promise, ankles locked behind Steve’s back and digging a little harder into the top of his ass. “You can fuck me into oblivion after, okay?”

“ _Mmmm_ , Buck.” His name breathy as hell on Steve’s lips after a broken moan was about the best sound he’d heard in this century. He closed his eyes before Steve’s flushed cheekbones and fucked-over hair shot all his willpower straight to hell. Although _fuck_ , the wrecked state of Steve’s voice wasn’t any better. “God, I missed you.”

The wet mouth sunk right back into his skin as Steve kissed his throat, open-mouthed, tongue pressing hard against his windpipe and it took everything in him to fight the positively gone moan that was scratching his throat under Steve’s tongue, toes curling tight in his boots and yeah, okay if he didn't put a stop to this right now, neither of them were gonna be able to.

He dragged his hand out of Steve’s hair, digging metal fingers into that sharp, gorgeous jaw to tip Steve’s face back for his and kiss him messy and tugging, one last time. 

Steve's knees just...gave out. Fighting instincts had him scrambling them both against the wall, palm planted against cold concrete, god, _shit_ , fingers spread to try to keep himself propped upright but they were slipping and if they hit the ground together there was no way in hell they were getting back up.

A dull hollow echo reverberated in his chest as he parted his lips and pulled back again, breathing heavy and eyes shut so he didn’t see how fucking flushed and debauched Steve had to be, he could _hear_ it in the gasping solid chest and fuck. 

Bucky somehow wrangled free and got down without falling on his ass, two feet planted as he forcefully held Steve at arm’s length while he tried to fix his hair and straighten out his clothes and get his breathing back in some kind’a order that wasn’t broken and whimpering gasps. 

But it was them, this was still them and they were about as good at keeping themselves from going black-eyed and heated at each other as they were at staying out of fights. 

Basically, _it always ends in a fight_ could apply to their sex life too. 

So he shouldn’t’ve been _surprised_ that the second the metal hand was on Steve's chest, holding him back with unforgiving steel before they launched back together again; Steve was breathing faster, fingers coming up to wrap around Bucky’s silver ones, eyes dark, lips swollen and parted and wet. Bucky paused from readjusting the straps on his thighs, looking up. Hair swinging as crystal met ocean, Rockaway beach blue. 

Homecoming.

His breath caught in his throat. The deadly look on Steve’s face. By god, it was this that’d get him killed one day, Bucky already knew it. It was the fucking intensity in those blue eyes. 

Steve had somethin’ for the arm, he was pretty sure. If the weak-knees and the gasped moans in the car and those wide eyes as Bucky slammed him into the floor of his apartment were any indication. 

Well, it was Bucky, any goddamn thing Steve did was another easily written line out in the book of how goddamn well he knew him, at this point there wasn’t a thing left about Steve he wasn’t at least pretty sure about. 

Bucky very, very carefully pressed weight into his metal arm, pushing Steve backwards an inch with the rippling fingers and if the sensitivity of the metal was enough to tell which plums were ripe, you can imagine how well they picked up the shudder running through Steve’s sternum. 

What he wanted was to back Steve into the closest wall, press the arm up against his chest and lean close, ask him if he liked that, liked all that danger and force, making Steve weak and useless in comparison again. Steve had never minded being small when it meant Bucky could - carefully - toss him around. He'd actually kinda missed it a little after the serum. 

But now that Bucky had the arm...Steve had that look in his eyes all over again. Bucky sure as hell could toss him around now. And he wouldn't even have to be careful. But the best part of that? 

He hadn't gotten to use this arm for a single thing but killing people. Then came along Steve's wide dark eyes to beg for it. How was it that his new favorite part of Bucky was the thing Bucky hated the most? 

That was just his Steve, turning the world upside down until Bucky couldn't help but see everything in the same sunshine those sky blue eyes did. 

The metal fingers curled, sliding down the familiar bumps and ridges of Steve's uniform as he followed his gaze down, abs convulsing enough to make the red and white flutter as Bucky sunk hard fingertips against Steve’s stomach, biting his lip at the sound that drew. 

Fuck. 

Bucky’s gaze flicked back up to the yearning one soaking him up like he could get Bucky to sink into his skin that way. He’d had no idea he could ever feel this fucking alive again. A quick shot of oxygen and he finally managed it, a beat and a half too honest. 

“Missed you too, punk.” 

If it was supposed to come out sweet or endearing, it was as fucking sad rolling off his lips as the truth was and suddenly Steve’s eyes watered right up. Jesus fuck, they had to channel all that raw emotion back into this fight or their plans to kick ass and take names might end in more beat ass and forgetting them again. 

The shield was closer. He had some vague superstitions about picking the thing up though, that really hadn’t ended well for him the last like three times he’d done it in battle and they were close enough to one he wasn’t gonna fucking risk it. 

So Bucky took half a step to the side instead, picked the blue helmet up from the cold, dirty floor, wiping it off with a sleeve and turning back to Steve, who’d gotten the memo enough to pick up the shield on his own, waiting patiently as Bucky lifted it over the fluffy blonde, tugging it down carefully and fitting the off-blue protection on Steve’s pretty head. 

He couldn’t help but lean forward, press a quick kiss to Steve’s chin before he slid the chinstrap back into place then Steve was tipping down to kiss his mouth again. Their lips crushed together, mouths overlapping loose and wet, pulling apart slow to slot back together, all sensual and sweet. 

Well, they weren’t dead yet and that was the only excuse Bucky had for pulling Steve flush, shiny hand possessive on the ridiculous slope of his lower back. Couldn’t help but follow the curve down, over the top of that gorgeous plump ass and they were kissing messy enough to stumble a few steps, tipping sideways with delirium, balances overthrown with each other. Such high concentration after so long apart it was making the tiny elevator tip in the corners.

Steve's tongue slipped into his mouth and he was calling on actual assassin strength to pull back before he could suck on it.

“Hey now, we gotta,” Bucky started breathlessly, but he was pretty sure Rogers got the message. They had go out there and fight, really.

Steve forced himself to back up, staring at Bucky from the growing space between them and Bucky inhaled, slowing his heartbeat back down. Assassins, deadly assassins that could take Bucky down one on one back when he hadn’t cared if he lived or died, this was. 

This was gonna be one hell of a fight and that was written right back in the dark blue eyes as Steve nodded at him, lips still parted and swollen. Stoop to pick back up the gun he’d deposited, wishing it was that beautiful body fitting so easily in his hands instead.

Fuck, okay. They got this. They were a team, right? The most in-sync team around.

Steve bent down to lift the grate and Bucky most definitely caught a beautiful view of that ass, heart pounding as a shiver went down the plates of his arm. After, they’d promised. He sure as hell had something to live for now. 

The grate slid up with a quiet rattle and Bucky ducked his head, gripping the rifle as he moved to step out of their tiny makeout box. 

Except just before his boot could land on solid ground there was an arm around his waist and Steve was dragging him backwards right back into their ridiculous little sanctuary, spinning them both into the elevator and kissing Bucky hard, hard enough to dip him upside down, fingerless gloves holding his waist tight as his hair flopped upside down and Steve’s tilting face scraped along his jaw. 

The metal arm wrapped around those broad, strapped up blue shoulders as he kissed Steve back, rubbing that pretty skin raw as their mouths tilted and fuck, he had no idea how he’d managed to keep himself from jumping Steve’s bones this fucking long, if he’d gotten his head outta his ass back in the quinjet he could’ve been inside that pretty ass instead of angsting then finally making out literally in the middle of a battlefield. 

He squeezed the shoulders tight one last time and Steve finally pulled him back upright, dizzy sweeping down his spine and hair royally fucked again as their lips slid apart one last time, slow and dragging off with a quiet sound. Steve tipped back forward to peck his mouth once, twice, but that was gonna lead right back into more making out and Bucky turned his head to the side, catching the next little kiss on his jaw instead. 

“C’mon, c’mon,” Bucky chided, like his pulse wasn’t pounding for Steve and Steve alone, and his beautiful boy finally pulled back, one hand clapping on Bucky’s neck as he rolled his lips in, still probably tasting like Bucky if the way his eyes slipped shut for a moment were any indication. 

“Mmm, okay. Yeah. I know.” Blue flicked back up to his again and Bucky was trying not to stare like the most wonton lost boy of Russia but it was kinda hard when Steve’s fingers were still on his neck. “Mmm, _God._ ” 

“No, just me,” he breathed and artist fingers arched up through his hair, weaving between dark strands. 

“You’re everything,” Steve confessed, sincere and broken shining from the shadows the helmet and those long long lashes cast and Bucky shoved them back apart again, inches this time but neither of them were breathing right, five-pointed star over the white one in Steve’s chest as Bucky told him the only thing that’d ever counted. 

“Then let’s go fight for it.”

The rifle slipped back into place as he lifted it to his shoulder and Steve swallowed, nodding again as he took a step backwards, letting Bucky past. 

He drew one more breath and stepped out into the basement, knowing in his fucking bones that Steve would be one step behind him. 

Rogers followed silently, barely a foot behind him and here they were, two soldiers stepping right back into each other’s skins. 

This beautiful machine that used to fight as one and look where they landed, in the future like Bucky’d promised, fighting together one more time. 

The Winter Soldier on offense and Captain America a step behind on defense, the best place Steve could be with that shield. It always did something funny to his chest, when he took point like this, the only person on this planet who walked in front of Steve Rogers in battle. 

Steve’d always been a leader, but Bucky’d always been his protector and that was how they ended up here, with Bucky checking silently, deadly around corners and Steve trusting, at his spine and trusting. 

What a thing to have again. It was almost as sweet as Steve in his arms, Steve’s trust in his first, foremost, most important shield he’d ever had, which was Bucky Barnes’ entire fucking body. 

He couldn’t count the number of times they’d laid in bed together, his arms wrapped around Steve too tight, eyes squeezed shut as he held him and blocked out the world with his shoulders, wishing he could possibly be big enough to shield his bloody, bruised boy from the entire world. 

One more time. 

They were staring up the stairs together when they heard the sound. 

Spun around exactly in time, creak and they were one person, Bucky crouched down as close to Steve as he could be, white star shield out in front of them both and Bucky’s rifle aimed deadly, careful, steady over Steve’s shoulder. 

Positioned perfectly and Bucky could swear he could hear Steve’s heart pounding in time with his own, stepped right back into each other with that kiss and stepped right back into the life he’d been waiting for, the love he’d been waiting for. The life worth fucking fighting for. 

“You ready?” Steve asked him and it was about a hell of a lot more than just this fight when Bucky held him tight across the distance between them and replied, sure as he’d ever been. 

Low, deep, dark, sincere, all he had left to give Steve now.

“Yeah.”

And with that, the doors creaked open. 

 

.  
.  
.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I literally spent an entire chapter on just like two scenes of the movie but whatever
> 
> quoting [this remarkable post](http://stevechoosesbucky.tumblr.com/post/144817939944/bucky-remembers-more-about-their-past-than-steve)
> 
> guys I have some wild ass sex scenes planned I hope you stick around I love your comments I love all of you xx


	3. Thirst Through The Ages

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is SO SAD IM SO SORRY I PROMISE ITS THE ONLY REALLY EMOTIONAL ONE BUT THE END OF CACW IS EMOTIONAL I CANT MAKE IT HAPPY SORRY
> 
> it's also like. shorter than the other chapters but it was either gonna be shorter or like 3 times the size so I split things where I could. 
> 
> Warnings: blood and violence and pain and traumatic brain injury and psychological fuckery and dismemberment and obvs, spoilers for cacw
> 
> yikes.

It was Tony. Of course it was Tony fucking Stark.

Steve stood up instantly and the nozzle of Bucky’s gun went right with him, trained perfectly over those broad blue shoulders to put shiny red in the crosshairs. 

The red almost matched the star on his arm. The one that made him sick to look at for the past two years. Didn’t mean he’d done a damn thing about it. 

He stayed absolutely silent while Steve crossed the room, approaching Tony with this unique cautiousness Bucky wasn’t sure he’d ever seen. Steve was a lot of things, but cautious wasn’t one of them. 

Fuck hell, he’d missed a lot. 

Like maybe the little detail of his best friend growing the fuck up without him there to watch it. 

The iron mask slid off and apparently he wasn’t the only one who needed three seconds to read Steve like a book anymore - but how many things had Tony been there to witness over the past four years that Bucky knew goddamn nothing about? And still, it was Bucky that Steve chose to put at his six, and Stark on the other side of that bright white star. 

“You seem a little defensive,” Tony offered and Bucky’s heart was racing but that blessed shield was still between his boy and the man that’d tried to kill them both just hours ago. 

“It’s been a long day,” Steve shot back and Bucky would’ve snorted if this were the war. 

This wasn’t the War. 

At least the sass hadn’t left that beautiful voice. There was awe mixed in with it though, that curiosity that could only be for Stark’s lowered guards and red-gold presence that didn’t involve missiles and explosions. 

Steve was cautiously awed Tony showed up and Bucky was still aiming a sniper scope right on Tony’s forehead. 

“At ease soldier, I’m not currently after you.” 

There was a bite in it that made it sound like an order, which was actually kinda funny. The Winter Soldier didn’t fucking take orders. Not anymore, and definitely not from a Stark. 

“Then why are you here?” Steve ordered right back and _wow_ , that was a bite. That was fucking _cold_. Jesus Christ, Bucky loved that man. 

The quiet clunk as a broad metal boot took another step closer made Bucky’s skin crawl. Casual, deadly, like he hadn’t been chasing them around with blasting boots and hands just hours ago. 

“Maybe your story’s not so crazy,” Stark shrugged and watching him admitting something like that was like watching the Berlin wall cave, all resistance before the tumble down. Pure crumble. It was soft. He was totally soft on Steve. 

Yeah Bucky wasn’t lowering this gun at all ever. 

“Maybe.” Tony tacked on and for as serious as this was, Stark sure was handling this all lightly and amused. “Ross has no idea I’m here, I’d like to keep it that way. Otherwise, I’ve got to arrest myself.” 

Hands thrown up as he leaned against the closest column, a thousand flashes of leaning in doorways, shaking heads down at bruised sparkling blue eyes, a thousand thrown exasperated hands over warfires as a pretty mouth hissed at Morita’s stitching hands on yet one more cut, muddy shield leaning against the torn blue fabric on those shaking strong thighs. 

The shiny, clean white star was throwing crystals around the room as Steve lowered it cautiously for the little smile on the face of his new friend, in his new life, and Bucky heard the caving touch of a smile before Steve’s lips could part all the way. 

“Well that sounds like a lot of paperwork.” 

And that sounds like flirting, Steve, Bucky filled in silently behind him. Over him, shoved down on a ratty sleeping bag under flickering gold,

 _Just one more page,_ Steve murmured, begged, and Bucky sucked harder, teeth sinking into the muscle curving from his neck to shoulders, _we get one night to ourselves and you wanna do paperwork instead of me?_ Tossed blonde over a breathy moan, _fuck, Bucky,_ and all the quiet one more’s turned into please more’s as red leather gloves pawed at a torn uniform, grip tight enough on silver dogtags to leave bruises on the back of Bucky’s neck-- 

“It’s good to see you, Tony.” Broad blue shoulders relaxed, the edge of relieved, happy, in that conceding voice, happy to see the man that’d just been trying to end them and if it were possible for Bucky to point his gun harder at Tony Stark’s head he would, but he couldn’t.

“You too, Cap.” 

Goddamn sweet. 

The asshole genius had a sweet, soft side for his Steve. Of course. Of fucking course, everyone did. The days when Steve was _just his_ had been so long gone for so long he shouldn’t fucking miss them but god, god, he missed his heart never beating with the fear of Steve leaving him for Someone Else. 

Would he trade it, the fear of losing Steve to illness, over losing him to Someone Else?

Stark was studying them, studying Steve, looking him over with this cautious familiarity, something Bucky wished could be as simple as teammates but by god, no one was ever just war buddies. 

Yeah, Tony was super into Steve and Bucky was super not into that. 

“Hey! Manchurian candidate, you’re killin’ me.”

 _If only_. Buck! You’re gonna kill someone--

Rush, red, pounding, I’m not gonna--

I wish, sarcastic and bitter and _what are you waiting for?_

The right partner.

“There’s a truce here, you can drop--”

Steve lifted a hand and Bucky’s gun went down so quickly his head didn’t catch up until he was already at ease. 

Broken satellite soldier still revolving, revolving--

The gold shifted and spun him up as Steve glanced over his shoulder, their eyes met and Bucky gave him the silent best friend exasperation Steve needed to read off him that was all art classes in Brooklyn and nothing Winter Soldier and destructive obsessive best friend turned lover, because those would ruin. everything. 

Steve read the look and maybe it was dark or four years was too long but the look he gave back read _patient_ instead of _run away with me_. 

Please, be patient, so Bucky was, carefully treading down the stairs to line up behind Steve again and try not to glare so hard at Tony. 

At least Tony was leading the way now, so he could go back to watching Steve’s six. He was waiting for the protest but it didn't come, and between the metal arm and metal man they at least had a chance at protection, keeping Rogers sandwiched safely between them as they weaved down hallways, around shadowed corners that each could be their last. 

He and Steve had been in enough dangerous battles together to understand the value of silent communication. Stark was a lot of things, but a soldier wasn't one of them. 

“So like. What's this--” Red and gold flashed as he waved a hand in the air to vaguely gesture them both. “-- _thing_ between you two?”

Bucky didn't bother so much as parting his lips to reply, not like it would have mattered, he could've tried to shout _we've been fucking since 1935_ and he wouldn't’ve gotten a word in edgewise before Stark was off rambling again.

“I asked Sam if Mr. Soviet was here and he gave me the craziest look and. I gotta say, this is pretty far to go for a war buddy, Cap.”

People kept saying that. 

See, Steve wasn’t sure what was the point of pretty far, but probably somewhere around opposing 119 countries, bench pressing a helicopter out of the air, and literally risking life and death and his entire existence, reputation, and friends’ lives for Some Guy He Used To Know. 

Bucky glanced over at him, one eyebrow up over the gun at his shoulder.

The briefest pause in battle and Steve didn’t say he’s the love of my life but he considered it. Instead, he lowered the shield at his chest, slightest falter in his step as he looked over at those guarded guarded eyes that were so afraid to break. 

Just one corner, the slightest tip of his mouth and the metal plates propping a rifle whirred quietly as they tightened and that was it, the smile broke and Steve’s head was ducking, shield lifting back up again like it could possibly hide the sound of his pounding heart or the twinkle in Bucky’s eye that was giving them away, brown hair tumbling as the pretty head shook once, a glance over his shoulder, habit checking behind them as the edge of his lip caught between his teeth, half worry half fondness, the same flushed lips he’d just been biting and Steve was trying not to gravitate closer but it was goddamn hard when he could feel Bucky vibrating just _slightly_ from all the way over here, and. 

Fuck, they had to keep their heads in the fucking game. 

How Tony missed that extremely obviously look exchange, Bucky had no idea. The benefits of walking in the back, he supposed. Neither Steve nor he were usually back here. Mostly because Steve bitched about being in the back and always liked to be the asshole in the most danger up front, which right now was Tony instead.  
Then they turned the corner, the corner that lead into the chamber, into real danger, and he didn’t want Steve safety sandwiched anymore, Bucky didn’t want Steve here at all. 

He knew exactly what they were about to come up on so he stepped as quickly and quietly as he could behind Tony’s shoulder, blocking Steve behind him before he could fuckin’ protest like he always did. 

“I got heat signatures,” Tony told them and well, if this was a horror movie, Tony would be the fuckin’ first to die because he was just _talking_ when there were assassins who could take _the Winter Soldier_ out here and that said a goddamn lot because Bucky was pretty sure these were literally the only creatures in the world he was more scared of than himself. 

“How many?” Steve asked and he sounded a little put out from being shoved to the back of the squad but Bucky wasn’t goddamn compromising and it looked like Stark wasn’t either. Well, at least they could agree on something. Sometimes there were little advantages to the whole world being in love with Steve Rogers. 

And it turned out, there were some pretty big disadvantages too. 

“Uh...one.” 

That wasn’t right. 

The blood in his veins was simmering under the surface and it took everything not to wrap his arms around Steve’s torso and protect him with the only other shield he trusted, his entire body but he was better being the trigger, Bucky’d spent his lifetime trying to shield Steve and failing, failing and falling and the only thing he could ever try to do was fight first, harder, faster, before Steve could because that was the only way to save, the only way. 

The lights blinked on. The tanks, gold, the tanks he’d been frozen in, gold like the lights over their heads in a dim lit bar as Bucky brushed short hair off his forehead and Steve shot him those eyes over the top of his glass and Dugan’s laughter faded to nothing as time froze right around them and suddenly he was drifting across the three feet between their chairs, taking Steve’s jaw in his hands, pressing their broken mouths together and tasting the damp alcohol on Steve’s tongue but he never did, he never could, he sat frozen on that barstool while golden lights glittered in Steve’s golden hair and he smiled back at the Commandos and Bucky couldn’t move a goddamn muscle, frozen as the ice poured down from the vents from above and there was nothing but his own twisted face in the reflection of the glass as the tank dropped colder and colder and. 

Bucky was holding his breath, had been holding his breath so long his lungs were aching and his nose burned cold as he finally silently breathed in all of the frozen air and turned to Steve, looked at Steve, because he was here again he was here and Bucky wasn’t in those tanks, that same golden halo was right here, right there, beautiful and cautious and tall and blue as the goddamn sky to match the melting puddle of Bucky’s soul and he couldn’t look at those tanks, the only thing he could look at was Steve as he stepped up, crossed in front but. 

But Steve had this awful, awful look on his face. Glancing around, looking between all of the tanks, maybe counting. This steady, wide-eyed curiosity mixed in with caution and a pounding heart Bucky could feel from here but Steve was counting tanks and looking for the empty one Bucky was supposed to be in. 

He was too numb to protest that time as Steve stepped forward, ahead of the pack again but he was walking down the center, in between them and Bucky wasn’t looking at Steve anymore, didn’t want to see all the history and horror on those pretty features, he was flanking out to protect Steve from the side only why weren’t the tanks empty? Why weren’t they--

“If it’s any comfort,” A voice interrupted, the voice that’d read from the book and Tony halted with Steve, alert, anxious, “--they died in their sleep.” 

Bucky didn’t stop, gun propped and heart pounding as he reached the first golden tank. 

The first soldier who’d beat him, frozen in his chair. 

With a bullet through his skull. 

Well that made no fucking sense, why would you take out the most effective, powerful tool in the world? What could possibly make a starving man who stumbled upon an endless feast throw away every morsel of the meal?

He couldn’t stop staring and that’s when the voice came back, and this time it wasn’t spouting red trigger words, it said something so much simpler and so...much worse. 

“Did you really think I wanted more of you?” 

He’d killed them. He killed them all. 

“What the hell,” he managed under his breath, adjusting the rifle, looking over his shoulder at the next tank and there, dead. Every single one. 

The fucking monster who’d blown up the UN killed the most useful, deadly weapons in the world because he was such a goddamn abomination even the evil villain didn’t want--

Suddenly Bucky’s head had no problem picturing him back in those tanks. 

If he had been here, instead of out there, shot in his sleep and spared the lifetime of pain and torture and running from Rogers, a simple bullet through the brain and it’d all be over, just like that, nothing left behind but some golden ice to frost down prettily over the glass casket--

But he’d left Bucky alive. He’d had the chance to kill him, had used him to destroy all the other soldiers but he could’ve killed him after, after the mission report but he’d left him alive and deadly and if he hated Bucky so fucking much he murdered sleeping nuclear bombs, codes, weapons because they were like him, why was he still alive, why did he bring him here, why did he bring Steve here--

“I’m grateful to them, though. They brought you here.” 

The light flicked on and Steve’s shield flew, that instantaneous reaction that’d beheaded dozens of Nazis and saved thousands of lives, but now it just bounced off the still, waiting face and Bucky took the noise, distraction to slowly advance on the otherside of the centerpiece.

Zemo wasn’t stupid enough to forget he was here, but if he could get close enough--

“...but then you’d never know why you came.” 

“You killed innocent people in Vienna just to bring us here?”

This man. This man had singlehandedly uprooted Bucky’s entire life, from framing him in Vienna to getting him caught in Romania to triggering him back into the Winter Soldier and making him rip through a facility stocked full of the good guys, then dragged him back to Steve’s side and forced Steve to turn on his life, his friends and all of it was to get them to fucking Siberia?

What the fuck could be so important--

“I’ve thought about nothing else for over a year. I studied you, I followed you. But now that you’re standing here,” Zemo paused and Bucky kept his gun steady over Steve’s shoulder. He was too close to the glass, too close to all of this but there was literally fucking nothing he could do right now but watch Steve’s six. 

“I just realized...there’s a bit of green in the blue of your eyes.”

Really? Really, that was the big climactic moment of his speech? 

Bucky could’ve fuckin’ told him that. He’d counted every damn speck of that ‘bit of green,’ and this was what the guy fuckin’ said--

“...how nice to find a flaw.” 

Okay, the green in Steve’s eyes made them sparkle like the ocean when he was smiling and the sun was reflecting off them, it was the first thing that made Bucky love the beach, the first reason why he pulled Steve down into the sand to the sound of the rocking waves, because those waves matching the sparkle of green in the beautiful blue of those eyes--

Yeah, it wasn’t a fucking flaw, thank you very much, it was one of Bucky’s damn favorite things and he’d fucking interrupt to say so if Steve hadn’t already deflected. 

“You’re Sokovian. Is that what this is about?”

“Sokovia was a failed state long before you blew it to Hell. No, I’m here because I made a promise.”

The deflection didn’t come so fast that time. 

Steve didn’t speak, Steve just inhaled and Bucky could read it in his shoulders, the suddenly realization dawning across his face. _Oh_. Yeah, Steve knew what that meant. 

Steve was here because he made a promise too. 

“You lost someone,” Steve translated and Bucky fucking wished he didn’t hear the empathetic, broken-hearted tone tugging at Steve’s voice. 

Bucky fucking wished he didn’t know who that was about. Fucking wished he didn’t know what all of this was about. 

_You lost someone_.

Well, it turned out only one thing could really ever break somebody as strong as Steve, or Tony. Only thing that’d ever broken Bucky too. 

Family. 

“I lost _everyone_.”

JosephSarahBuckyEveryoneBuckyPeggyBucky

“--and so will you.” 

The screen blinked on. 

Bucky didn’t move, because he knew exactly what was on it. 

See, he used to be Steve’s _everyone_. 

Those quiet, sweet years between Sarah’s death and the birth of the Howling Commandos, Bucky was Steve’s entire everyone. 

That was a lot to be. 

And in some ways, he almost missed it, almost missed the days when Steve had nobody but him. Then, Steve had Dernier, Monty, Gabe, Dugan, Morita. Peggy. 

It meant Steve had a lot more to lose. Bucky, for whatever reason, assumed that meant when Steve lost him, Steve would be alright. 

Turned out Bucky might’ve stopped being Steve’s everyone, but he never stopped being Steve’s everything. 

Steve wasn’t alright. 

“I know that road. What is this?” Echo echo echo.

Not that Bucky knew that, because Bucky _did_ lose everyone, including himself, and that’s what led them here. The Winter Soldier. 

And with the tape Zemo was about to play? 

Bucky’d lose everyone again. Which was Steve. 

Steve would lose everyone too, which was a hell of a lot more than Bucky now. 

He had a team. A life. A happy one. 

He had Sam, Tony, Wanda, Clint, Natasha, Rhodey, Vision, Sharon, the love and adoration of everyone he met on the damn street and all of that, he was going to lose all of that. 

Because of Bucky. 

He never could’ve imagined turning from Steve’s _everyone_ to the destroyer of Steve’s _everyone_. But here they were.

They played the tape. They played the tape and Howard called him Sergeant Barnes because he recognized him, knew him, and Maria called out _Howard_ and the sound of metal breaking bone was so goddamn loud and Bucky held his gun tight and didn’t look at Steve or Tony because he couldn’t see what was flashing on their faces. 

They played the tape and he closed his eyes and listened to himself murder Howard and Maria Stark and the tears pooled up in his eyes he tried to hide it and he could feel from here, how fucking hurt Tony was, how fucking horrified, destroyed.

Steve wasn’t looking at him. Steve was looking at Tony. Bucky wondered distantly if Steve would ever look at him again. 

Tony whipped around and Bucky startled, jolted back into reality but the lift of his gun was more instinct than true defense because he couldn’t see or think past the tears in his eyes. 

“Tony, Tony--” Steve grabbed Tony’s shoulder, turned him back around but not before they both saw Bucky crying. 

He didn’t--

Tony was looking at Steve now. Steve still hadn’t glanced his way once. It was a damn good thing he’d memorized that blue, considering he was never gonna see it again. 

“Did you know,” Tony whispered.

Bucky’s lungs were made of the same metal as his arm, crackling and shifting plates as they protested for oxygen but he couldn’t breathe right now. Of course Steve didn’t know. Steve couldn’t know, there was no fucking possible way Steve could know and kiss him how he just did. 

Oh god. 

Oh god, that was their last kiss, their one and only last kiss and--

“I didn’t know it was him,” Steve said and it sounded like a lie and Bucky just stared openly at the love of his life and didn’t breathe. 

“Don’t bull _shit_ me, Rogers, did you _know_.” 

It was dark enough in here the blue of his helmet almost matched the eyes Bucky could barely see from here, still trained on Tony, searching, back and forth, a thousand crackling fires in the distance as Bucky rolled his lips in and realized he couldn’t taste Steve anymore, would never ever taste Steve again and--

And Steve Rogers looked Tony Stark right in the eye just. Said it. 

“Yes.” 

Tony shoved away, shock, horror, and Bucky was back in the golden freezer tank with a bullet between his eyes and blood running down the side of his face. 

Steve knew, all this time, that Bucky’d murdered the parents of one of his closest friends, and Steve pulled him out of the river, dropped his entire life, held him tight and kissed him with the ferocity he fought with, the intensity of a thousand suns.

Time slowed, for just a moment, the briefest pause that left him just to blink at his best friend, standing there across the room, looking steady at one of _his_ best friends, who Bucky’d completely destroyed but murdering his parents in cold blood and. 

And for the first time in a very long time, Bucky had absolutely no idea what to do. 

Then Tony backhanded Steve across the face and there wasn’t a single question, his gun shot up to Tony so fast he almost couldn’t duck from the blast in time. 

Their metal fists met and it was easy to tell, from the very first throw, what kind of fighter the enemy was and right now, Tony was only here to kill him. 

A hand wrapped around his throat, blast off the ground to slam his spine into the ground, metal boot pinning down his arm, but Bucky wasn’t here to kill Tony. 

The shield bounced off Tony’s armor and fuck, he better not be trying to interfere.

Steve knew. Steve knew and--

Tony rammed into the shield and Steve went flying, Bucky’s heart pounding in his throat but then he saw the shackles bolt Steve’s ankles together and fuck, that was the first time he’d ever been relieved to be right about that. 

Tony loved Steve and Tony wasn’t gonna hurt Steve, Steve was safe and Bucky needed to get the fuck out of here right now. 

Things were exploding, tanks toppling and Rogers was stupid enough to get caught in the crossfire, Bucky couldn’t let that happen. 

They tumbled to the ground and the minute he picked himself up there was Steve, waving an arm and shouting at him in blue, 

“Get outta here!”

In 1941, Steve had shouted that same line. Bucky’d screamed back at him, no not without you. 

But this building wasn’t burning down. This fight wasn’t against Steve, the only thing endangering Steve was Bucky, Steve was safer right now if he wasn’t at Bucky’s side and Bucky sprinted for the door so fucking fast he couldn’t feel the metal disappearing beneath his feet. 

But he could still hear Steve behind him. 

“It wasn’t him, Tony. Hydra had control of his mind.” 

“Move.”

“It wasn’t him!” 

They were grappling behind him but Tony didn’t wanna hurt Steve, shackles and the barked _move_ , they both loved Steve too much to hurt him so Bucky just had to get out of here so Rogers could be safe--

He didn’t make it out. 

And Steve stopped being safe. 

Tony realized, somewhere between the shouting and fighting and pleas for forgiveness on Bucky’s behalf, exactly how much Steve meant it and exactly how far he was willing to go to prove that, and suddenly Steve wasn’t safe anymore. Steve was an enemy, because Steve was Bucky and Tony sure as hell hated Bucky right now. 

And the minute he shot Steve, Bucky hated him too. 

Steve was down. Steve was on the ground the way he had been as a kid and now, now it was _not without you_. Now it was jump right to his fucking death again, the last two times he’d been fighting with Stevie and picked up his shield, he’d been blasted off a train, shot back into his own head with memories, _Bucky_? 

Killed and brought back to life and he had some serious superstitions about picking up that shield in battle but Steve was in trouble and Bucky would take death again, rebirth again, Hydra and the train all over again before he took Steve on the ground with a gun to his head. 

So he picked up the shield and launched himself back into battle, to protect his boy. 

And funny enough, he lost an arm this time too. 

Like he said. Some serious superstitions.

 

He was laying on the ground with his shoulder sparking, his brain sparking with it. Neurologically linked, the metal arm was hardwired into his brain with some nasty circuits and getting it ripped off was making those circuits do some nasty things. 

There was too much blood on his face and he knew that, he knew it was a lot worse than missing an arm right now, he knew too much about brain damage and permanent injury and. 

That’s when Steve said it. 

“I could do this all day.”

Bucky said shit, in his head, and grabbed Tony’s ankle before Steve got himself killed. Of all things to never change, it had to be the most fucking reckless, stupid--

The internal complaining replaced with internal bleeding as Tony’s boot collided with his face and everything went black. 

He’d thought that Tony wouldn’t hurt Steve, but all of this was about hurting Steve. It was Steve who failed him and Tony was going to kill Bucky for it, because he could see now. 

You love this thing so much? I’m gonna take it away from you.

The past few years had changed a lot, because Stark saw it before Bucky did. 

Bucky lay bleeding on the ground, his arm gone, his lungs shuddering and throat filled with blood, listening to the sound of Steve Rogers lose his mind as he tried to kill the man who’d taken him in when no one else tried and wondered quietly what it was that made Stark see it.

“I don't know if I'm worth all this, Steve.” 

Bucky lay bleeding on the ground and watched Steve Rogers cut open the chest of the steel glowing heart that’d been offered to him when it’d been given to so goddamn few, and slowly pick his way back to the murderer who should’ve been nothing more than a monkey on his back. 

Bucky lay bleeding on the ground and Steve Rogers offered him a hand. Bucky, the selfish vine that’d grown so deep into Steve’s spine he’d never shake it free, took it. 

The hand hauled him to his feet, an arm around his bruised, heavy shoulders and started Bucky for the exit without a word. 

If only Stark could be so merciful. 

“That shield doesn’t belong to you.”

Step. 

“You don’t deserve it.”

Pain shooting up his shoulder, his spine, and Steve just kept walking them both. 

“My father made that shield!”

Howard. 

He did. He made that shield, he gave that to Steve and joked to Bucky that he could make him a red white and blue rifle to match and Bucky rolled his eyes before he broke down about how goddamn grateful he was to know Steve could be just this much safer, throwing a playful punch to Howard’s shoulder instead --

Then two to his face, delivered heavy enough to kill.

I don’t know if I’m worth this.

Steve paused. Bucky’s hand slipped a bit on his shoulder, hair swinging as he lifted his head, let it sink in. 

He was holding in his arms a murderer, a murderer of more than just his friend’s father but his _friend_ , and if Steve was going to drop him, now would be the time. 

Fingers pried open and his grip released. Let go. 

Metal clattered to the ground, dropped, and it wasn’t him. 

Steve stood there in the middle of this chamber, the place where they’d tortured and activated this weapon, this monster, and dropped his shield. 

Dropped Captain America’s shield right to the ground, and took one step forward with Bucky still in his arms. 

His shield, for Bucky. His title, for Bucky. His life, for Bucky. That’s how much.

I don’t know if I’m worth all this to you.

 

You're worth everything. 

 

 

They were on a quinjet to Wakanda and Bucky was bleeding and Steve was bleeding; but it was alright. 

They were together. They were alive, and they were together, and Steve wouldn’t trade that for anything in the goddamn world. 

The only sound was their lungs collapsing over and over, split between the dripping blood on the floor and Bucky’s arm didn’t whirr quietly anymore, it sparked and it shuddered and Bucky’s spine mirrored the shuddering and sparking every goddamn time too. 

The minute he had Buck propped carefully on a seat Steve was popping the helmet off over his damp hair, wincing at the tug of the dried blood that’d caked down the side of his forehead, by his eyes. There was more blood on his face than he thought, but much more important, there was a _lot_ more blood on Bucky’s face than he thought. 

The thick red stream under his nose was the most concerning. Steve unfortunately knew a lot about what made different things on your face bleed, and the placement and amount of blood on Bucky’s face right now?

That wasn’t just broken blood vessels. That was indication of brain trauma. 

The second it crossed his mind the raw exposed wires sticking off Buck’s shoulder sparked and wizzed again, making beautiful crystal eyes fall shut, lips parted in a quiet noise of pain. 

“Buck?” Steve tried quietly, all out of breath and broken as he crouched between Bucky’s knees, fighting every urge in his bones to reach up and cup that bleeding, fucked up jaw. 

It was kinda scary that Bucky didn’t say anything back but Steve didn’t let himself think about that, dragging all his focus to the quiet hand that’d scooted down Bucky’s thigh to curl a finger around his. 

Bucky’s eyes were still closed and his head was lolling and his hair was all matted up with blood and tangled to hell and his right arm was shaking under the weight of holding himself up and Steve wanted to cry but that wasn’t gonna do a damn thing to help. 

But there was the med kit, T’Challa had given them a med kit and he could do that to help, he just needed to fish out a sterile cloth and he could wipe down some of that blood, see how much of it was Boot to the Face and how much was from--

Wasn’t gonna think about it, he’d drive himself fucking mad because there was nothing he could do until they landed anyways and he’d already cleaned Buck up once today, he just had to focus on that, unzip the case, find the package, rip it open, everything was gonna be okay. 

_Steve, c’mon, pick your head up for me_ , Bucky’s Brooklyn voice cooed and Steve couldn’t see anything but blurs of crystal blue mixed in with bloody red hands on his face and it was so goddamn hard to keep his eyes open but no twang could hide how goddamn scared Buck sounded and Steve didn’t want this, didn’t want Bucky to have hands steady as his ma’s nurse hands by the time he was nineteen but he couldn’t not do anything and every fucking where he turned he was fucking up in some way, hurting Bucky or letting some bully hurt a girl--

 _M’sorry, m’sorry B-buck--_ the blood in his throat made him choke and his vision wasn’t clear enough to see the distress on Bucky’s face but he could feel it, in the fluttering hands trying to be so careful on his face, barely tipping Steve’s head at all with the fingertips that should be gripping his jaw tight to kiss him hard instead, not left to stitch Steve’s lip up like some morbid horror story--

“It’s gonna sting,” Steve already started to apologize, ten years older ten times larger and so goddamn sorry for every fight he’d ever gotten in that put Bucky where he was now, heart pounding as he tried to keep his hands steady and asked Buck to just keep his head up a little while longer. 

There was so much blood on this cloth, so much blood on everything and Steve was at the altar of his dying saint, on his knees between deadly thighs as he held Bucky’s head up and tried to scrub all the red free. 

It’d only been hours since the last time he’d washed blood from Bucky’s face but this couldn’t be any polar of an opposite. Wary exchanged for weary, exhausted, Buck’s eyes were barely open at all as he tried to swallow through a dry copper throat and Steve knew exactly what he was seeing, the high pitched whine, the voice muffled in the distance and bloody hands flashing in and out of focus. 

Fuck, he was so sorry he made Buck do this so many goddamn times. And when they were just kids, _jesus_ , he couldn’t imagine being this fucking scared as a _teenager_. 

Steve was pretty sure his heart had never beat faster in his entire life than this moment right now, trying to wipe the blood away from Bucky’s nose only to realize it was still trickling more. 

He had to be running on straight serum now, there was no way anyone could survive that much blood loss and there was so much _red_ \--

The sniffle caught him off guard, wrist shooting up to wipe his eyes before they watered over. Well, he either just smeared Bucky’s blood all over his face or it was too late and the tearing up he’d been pretending he wasn’t doing had turned into crying a little while ago. 

The first time Bucky saw blood in Steve’s blonde hair, he puked in the middle of a battlefield. 

Now, Steve was dripping with it and Bucky was dripping with it and there wasn’t enough left in either of their stomachs or minds to puke.

There were too many knots in Buck’s hair to run his fingers through it so he just pinned it back with the flat of his palm, wishing with all his goddamn might he could transfer some of the healing power of his cells to the beautiful head under his hand and fuck, fuck, he couldn’t let himself fall apart right here between Bucky’s thighs with a bloody rag gripped tight in one hand and his lashes clumping together--

He didn’t mean to brush the arm, he really didn’t but the little pained noise was worse than the yelp puppies make when you accidentally step on their tail or kick them and he couldn’t fucking stumble out an apology fast enough. 

“M’sorry, m’so sorry Buck, are you okay?” 

And then mentally kick himself because jesus fuck, what a question, are you okay, it’s not like you’re bleeding from the face and bruising from everywhere and just _lost a literal fucking arm._

The only thing he got back was a pained little nod, face scrunched up in pain and hair hanging in his eyes and it was just too much, Steve couldn’t take that anymore. 

Both his hands landed on Bucky’s thighs as he set back on his heels, head dipping as his eyes fell closed. Buck was warm and real and hard against his palms, under the rough touch of his gloves but Bucky wasn’t okay, might never be okay again and the world was choosing right fucking now to let that all sink in. 

It took him a solid four minutes of sinking his nails into the top of black armored pants before the courage finally made its way out of his throat, all twisted up and morbid with dread. 

“Does the. Um. Did the metal arm...feel?” 

The length of the war ticked by and Buck didn’t reply so Steve bit his lip and winced open an eye. 

Crystal was stuck on bloody silver, staring at the sparking stump with this blank, distantly mortified expression. 

There was water in the blue of Buck’s eyes and Steve didn’t, couldn’t say anything, watching as the strapped up chest expanded, sucking in a shaky breath.

Exhale, voice garbled bloody and quiet, 

“It did, yeah.” 

His glove was stained red, like the leather that missed Bucky’s hand from that train, clapped over his mouth in horror but he should’ve known, should’ve guessed, of course it felt and if the way Buck’s face was twisted up meant anything it felt a lot and it got blown off and Steve didn’t know what else to do. 

“I'm so. I'm so sorry, Buck.”

Bucky nodded, swallowing tight and Steve’s eyes slipped shut again because if he kept looking at his best friend he was gonna start fucking bawling, he was gonna--

It was only because he was so damn tuned in to the boy in front of him he felt the jolt sideways, managed to reach out and grab a shoulder right before all 250 pounds of muscle landed on the floor. 

“ _Buck_ , c’mon, you’ve got next shift.” It took everything in him to sit up on the edge of their makeshift bed, throwing a look over his shoulder at the groaning boy behind him. “You leave Dugan out there and I promise you he’ll come tearing down this damn tent and catch you all...all--”

“Debauched?” Bucky drawled, head lazily rolling on the sleeping bag to shoot Steve the most suggestive look he’d seen all night, all cocky content smile and short damp strands curling over his forehead in the flickering lamplight. 

“Yes, that.” He waved a hand to indicate the lazy sprawl, the ratty blanket tangled up in Buck’s legs but if the glazed over crystal was any indication, Buck wasn’t exactly listening. “C’mon man, you gotta get up sometime.” 

“Mmm, I _would_ but. I just don’t think I can, Stevie, you take it.” 

“I’m not taking your shift! I have to get up early!”

“But I can’t _movveee_.”

“Oh yes you can, cut it out.” Steve reached back a foot and a half to smack Bucky’s thigh only it was still bare and the sound of skin on skin was.

Jesus, he had no idea how Buck had the refractory time he did but he was goddamn grateful because _fuck_ could Steve go again right the hell now, the mouth-shaped bruise on the back of Bucky’s shoulder was enough to give him tingles all the way down the spine and if the swollen bottom lip currently caught between Buck’s teeth was any indication he fucking knew it. 

“I really don’t think I can, Captain Rogers,” Bucky sing-songed, rolling over all the way to press a kiss to the back of Steve’s hipbone, warm fingertips sliding up his bare spine. “You think I can just take all that supersoldier strength pounding me into th--”

“Buck!” 

“What! It’s not like it’s not true! I’m not sure I can _walk_.”

“You are the most overdramatic person I know,” Steve told him sincerely, twisting the rest of the way around to swoop down and press a soft kiss to Bucky’s head. The quiet little noise he made, crystal fluttering shut just about broke Steve’s heart. So maybe he melted a little bit and stooped a touch more, pressing his lips to the plush, lax ones that took his in like a waterfall, flowing rushing submerged and. 

It took everything he had to pull away, breaking off with a soft puckered sound that settled somewhere between his lower ribs. A moment or two to recalibrate, soaking in the tight fingers wrapped around his wrist, force his voice back into working one more time. 

“You can. Mm. You can walk fine. C’mon, we gotta find your clothes--”

“Steevvee.”

“Buuckyy, I’m serious!” 

There was still quite a bit of grumbling but Bucky finally pushed up to sit, wincing as he reached for Steve’s outstretched hand. Except the moment he was on his feet suddenly he wasn’t and Steve fucking dove, barely catching Bucky in time before he flat fell over. 

“Fuck, fuck, I can’t feel my legs--”

“Oh my god I will take your fucking shift you brat--”

What he would give, the number of goddamn redeye shifts he would take to catch Bucky stumbling with that wicked grin, the hands planted over his chest and squeezing as the man who couldn’t walk could somehow reach up on his tiptoes and capture Steve’s mouth with his again, tipping them sideways and kissing messier until Steve was so dizzy he wasn’t sure _he_ could stand. 

Instead, instead he caught Bucky with bloody gloves and battlegear. Bucky who wasn’t stumbling because they’d taken it a little rough and hard in bed, Bucky who was falling because he’d spent seventy years with the weight of a heavy, metal bionic arm attached to his shoulder and had learned to be a lethal assassin with all of that extra unbalanced weight that had just been blown the fuck off, and now was apparently so off balance the minute he wasn’t propping himself up anymore, had instead reached up his only hand to cup Steve’s face and comfort _him_ , his equilibrium was fucked and his entire body tipped over sideways and the pain was too much to even attempt to fumble for the side of the quinjet. 

Steve caught him, caught the pained sound with it and the panicked flash in crystal that used to sparkle as Bucky suddenly realized he couldn’t even keep himself upright. 

That was alright. Steve had him. In case bench pressing a helicopter wasn’t proof enough, Steve was always goddamn planning on catching Bucky. Forever. 

His knees were aching as he sunk onto the seat beside Buck, carefully positioned on his right, easing the tipped shoulders into his own. 

Bucky was shaking. 

“I got you,” Steve whispered into the empty echo and the leaf’s breeze turned into a hurricane. 

A hand around the strapped up waist and Steve just held onto his boy, let the muscles shake and shake and shake, the desperate single hand grip his thigh so tight he could feel the blood vessels popping but nothing in the world could make him let go now. 

“It’s gonna be okay. We’re gonna be okay.” The war was still screaming outside their window but the fire couldn’t reach them now, Steve gave everything he had left to make sure of that. 

Bucky’s hair smelled like blood and sweat, damp from snow and grease but Steve’d never breathed him in deeper, eyes closed and maybe what felt like not enough was too much but he couldn’t fucking stop himself from pressing his lips to chilled skin, kissing the top of Bucky’s head like they were seventy years younger and seven percent the pain. 

The hand on his leg released and for about three seconds Steve was terrified he’d pushed everything a step too far, then Bucky was sinking deeper into him and he’d take it, he’d fucking take anything Bucky would give him. 

For now, that meant holding them both upright, just upright until they got somewhere safe and that, holding onto Buck, was the one thing he’d always been able to do. 

 

“Tony. I’m glad you’re back at the compound. I don’t like the idea of you rattling around a mansion by yourself. 

“We all need family. (It’s not the time to tell you this, but he’s mine.) The Avengers are yours. Maybe moreso than mine. 

“I’ve been on my own since I was eighteen. (Even when I had nothing, I had.) I never really...fit in, anywhere. Even in the army. (The only place he’d ever stopped questioning where he belonged was in Bucky’s arms but now wasn’t the time to tell Tony that either) 

“My faith’s in…(Bucky. Sam. Soldiers.) people, I guess. Individuals. And I’m happy to say for the most part, they haven’t let me down. Which is why I can’t let them down either. 

“Locks can be replaced, but. Maybe they shouldn’t. (Don’t come after him, he’s done his goddamn penance.) 

“I know I hurt you, Tony. (More than you know.) I guess I thought by not telling you about your parents I was sparing you, but I can see now that I was really sparing myself. And I’m sorry. (I really really am.) Hopefully one day you can understand. (I love him). 

“I wish we agreed on the accords. I really do. I know you’re doing what you believe in and that’s any of us can do. That’s all any of us should. (What I believe in.)

“So no matter what, I promise you, if you need us. If you need me. (Yes, I know. I’m sorry he came first. Maybe one day we could’ve...if it weren’t. He’s...He’s everything and I’m sorry and I wish so much I could’ve been what you needed. I can’t offer you that but I can offer you every ounce of what I have left to give, please understand. Please.) I’ll be there.” 

The entire time they wrapped up the stump Bucky made broken sounds of hurt and Steve’s nails were just long enough to cut bloody moons into his palms. A doctor was stitching up the gashes in his face, even though Steve kept insisting it didn’t matter, he’d be healed by tomorrow but Buck just gave his this tired look from his own metal hospital bed and Steve shut up. 

At least they weren’t trying to separate them yet. 

They had Buck on IV’s, all needled up and pale and it just wasn’t fair, he was so goddamn helpless to do a single goddamn thing to--

“Stevie.”

Years, they’d had Buck for years, in fucking _tanks_ like those terrible rotten yellow chambers--

“STEVE.” 

He snapped upright and there was Buck, sitting up and looking at him with his eyebrows on the goddamn ceiling. 

“Are you gonna…?”

Steve blinked, eyebrows furrowing as he checked over his shoulder, only everyone was gone and it was just him and Buck now. 

The first thing he saw were the scars, then the cocked eyebrow, then the scars again then Bucky was giving him that really impatient face, then the scars and the next thing he knew there was a white tanktop covering his eyes. 

It took a second or two to recalibrate then Steve was peeling the white cloth off his head, making a face as he barely caught the next white article of clothing launched at him with Bucky’s foot. 

“What in--”

“I told them you’d help me get dressed, and you were in some far away distant land but I’m assuming you’ve got no problems with that but hey, a lot’s changed I mean seventy years is a long time and I could just call back the doct--”

“Buck, Buck,” Steve interrupted, shhing him back down, watching as the blabbering pretty mouth slowly closed itself again, crystal eyes a little wide like he still wasn’t sure and Steve had no idea how Bucky couldn’t be sure after the goddamn kiss they had in that elevator, but y’know, he was missing an arm and a hell of a lot of time, he had a right to be a little insecure. 

“I would be honored to help you get dressed,” Steve told him sincerely and Bucky was already rolling his eyes by the time Steve was climbing off his cot. 

But the sarcasm dropped the minute Steve was close enough to breathe in and Bucky couldn’t help but exchange the rolled eyes for a careful side-eye judging what Rogers would think if he said it, but. He’d never know until he tried. 

Rogers was in the middle of straightening out the tanktop to fit over Bucky’s head when he opened his mouth and lifted an eyebrow at the lifting arms. 

“I can’t say I remember a time you were interested in putting clothes back _on_ me,” he drawled slowly and Steve didn’t miss a beat, sliding the white cloth over Bucky’s dark hair with the brightest smile on his face. 

“There were plenty of times, all of which included when we were about to go on a _mission_ and you were still lounging around naked and lazy like some content cat--”

“I remember those, and plenty of other times you were surprisingly strict for someone who did all sorts of unspeakable things in uniform…” Bucky trailed off, looking up at the sideways tip of Steve’s pretty mouth as he held Bucky’s wrapped up ribs with one hand and carefully helped him fit his right arm through with the other. 

“I don’t know if I’d say there were unspeakable,” Steve offered slowly and Bucky rolled his lips in, looking up at the sparkle in those bruised blue eyes. 

God, Steve hadn’t changed a single bit. 

More than seventy years apart, the whole world changed and there was Steve, steady, beautiful, solid Steve Rogers. The same kid he’d grown up beside in Brooklyn, the same kid he’d kissed on those beaches in those beautiful hot summers, the same kid he’d split an army tent with and all his army meals with and. 

The same kid now, looking at him all soft and sincere and happy as he helped get the other sleeve whole over the wrapped up stump of an arm Bucky had left. 

Fuck, Steve did not deserve this. 

Steve did not deserve any of this. 

He hadn’t noticed he was staring at the blank metal floor under there was a callused, crooked finger under his chin, lifting his head back up and Bucky’s vision cleared, long dark hair sweeping away to the sides as he searched the worry between blue eyes and wondered what the hell he’d done to break Steve so deeply he reverted right back to the spitfire little kid from the streets. 

Maybe, if this was Captain America looking at him like that, the goodness and the power and the strength would be enough to combat all the dark and weak and terror Bucky brought with him. 

But that wasn’t Captain America. That was the kid Steve Rogers and he wasn’t anywhere near fucking ready for everything inside Bucky’s broken mind. 

Steve Rogers was strong enough for a lot of things, but he wouldn’t be strong enough for this. 

Steve Rogers almost entirely fell to pieces today, dropping Captain America’s shield right to the ground for him when seconds before, that shield had been about to behead Captain America’s greatest ally. 

What the _fuck_ did Steve think he was doing?

What did _Bucky_ think he was doing?

He saw it coming ninety something miles away, that same goddamn look was in Steve’s eye, the one that used to make him blush, the one that made him wanna be sick now. It was the look in Steve’s eye and the warm hands resting on his neck, fingertips brushing the soft white they’d wrapped him in, this angelic pure he didn’t deserve to wear in the least, contrasting so damn harsh against the long dark hair, the dark wrap on his shoulder and the dark circles under his eyes but Steve was leaning in to kiss him anyways. 

It was helpless, the way Steve collapsed forward like that but he still paused, waiting half a centimeter from Bucky’s lips, just in case but Bucky wasn’t ducking away this time, he didn’t have it in him. 

Their mouths met and Bucky tipped into it, let Steve cup the back of his head and pull him up deeper, lips parting to drag sensation back into his soul because he couldn’t do a damn thing else. 

He’d been left to drift away for so goddamn long, left to nothing but the winter tide and here was Steve, warm and _back_ , ready to sweep him into the sunlight. 

Steady promise, in the slide of Steve’s lips between his, the desperate tug of their mouths that pulled so long and slow it was wrenching the tears right out of his throat right with the tight fingers digging into his skull. 

No one had won for so long and here was Steve with his victory line, scooping up Bucky like a white flag. 

But he was torn. And battered, and barely held up in all that cloth. 

God, he didn’t want anything as much as he wanted to surrender. To cave, to fold in and give himself over to Steve. To Steve, who he needed to stay, to Steve, who he’d been apart from for so long. 

Maybe it was the serum or maybe he’d never had the chance to notice, but he’d swear he could taste the emotions ladling the tongue sweeping wet over his bottom lip. 

The arms that used to be his parenthesis held him like a question mark and Bucky was so fucking sick of questions. 

_Whenever you’re ready_ , the grip on the back of his neck spilled into his tangled hair and Bucky broke. 

Bucky broke on a stuttered exhale, head tipping up as he crumbled forward, mouth latched tight and tipped to beg -- _Longing_ \-- as the tears spilled over the corner of his eyes. 

Two hands gathered him up so fast and secure Bucky couldn’t help but shake again, stuttering in Steve’s hold as the arms slipped beneath his knees, behind his spine. 

A world tipped sideways, unsteady and terrifying and he realized he couldn’t scramble for balance a moment after he’d already reached to brace his left arm around Steve’s shoulders but he didn’t have a left arm anymore, he didn’t have anything anymore but Steve and that was the exact opposite of what he’d been for so long but he had Steve, he had _Steve_ and Bucky couldn’t pinpoint the moment he broke off the kiss to turn his face into Steve’s shirt and shake, but that’s the next place he was. 

Then he was being laid down, on something softer and whiter again, and Bucky didn’t open his eyes. 

Couldn’t open his eyes. All of that white. 

The hands placing him on the mattress turned into the hands brushing the curtain of dark hair away from his face, then the hands that ran over his shoulder as Bucky turned his face into the nearest soft white and froze the tears in his throat before he leaked off seventy years of ice. 

It was too dark to imagine where the hands might go next so he held his breath, listened with everything else they taught him and he hated himself for that, for bringing that into bed with Steve then a hand was on his spine and Bucky wasn’t in his body anymore. 

He was in a shitty apartment in Brooklyn, a freezing five-point star pressed into his back. 

It’d been there all night, which made it a fucking wonder that it was still so damn cold, you’d think his own body heat would’ve transferred at least to Steve’s fingers. Well, to be fair, his fingers were mostly bone, and it wasn’t like he was complaining about the icepack on his back in the middle of the heat of summer, but still, waking up that way wasn’t exactly fun. 

“Stevie?” He grumbled into their one ratty pillow and the star on his back spread, expanding and curling a bit as the body beside his did the same. 

“Mmm,” he got in response and Bucky couldn’t help the quirk of a smile in one corner, eyes still closed as he wiggled an arm out from under his stomach to fumble around and reach for Steve’s instead. 

The only caving part on Steve’s whole damn body - besides his ass, but that didn’t count, Steve’s ass did a lot more than just cave and it never broke Bucky’s heart when it did - didn’t make it hard for prodding fingertips to find a familiar stomach, skirt up around to the hip attached and tug the cold little body in closer. 

Their thighs bumped up together first and Steve groaned again, a little lower, a little warmer, star on Bucky’s back raking down an inch, dragging five little white lines after. 

“Marry me,” Bucky whispered into the morning glow and one blue eye blinked drearily open, blonde flopping over the pillow beside him. 

“Shut up,” Steve told him and Bucky laughed, high and bright and wispy as the wind, rolling the last few inches between them to kiss the scowl off Steve’s beautiful pale lips. 

Beautiful, pale, white as the mattress pillow sheets beneath them now as Steve put his hand on Bucky’s scarred spine, that familiar star at his back - sometimes fucking literally, when Steve held him close in the trenches too cold to take off their uniforms - and Bucky held perfectly still, let the white drift free around them like the flags his love couldn’t afford. 

The mattress compressed as Steve laid down behind him, nothing to anchor but the star on his spine and Bucky wondered what Steve would say if he knew Bucky’d meant the proposal that day. 

 

It’d been proven pretty recently in science that blue light hindered sleep. Maybe other things too, the studies suggested. This country knew science better than any other, so the lights weren’t blue, they were gold. 

Traded out for gold. 

Bucky swallowed and actively didn’t think about frozen chambers or forties bars or beach sand or Steve’s hair. 

He could sit upright now without tipping over, but walking was another story. It took all of his energy to keep himself from falling sideways when he was sitting on the edge of an operating table, coordinating his legs with it while his head pounded so goddamn much wasn’t happening anytime soon. 

It’d been 37 hours since Steve dropped his shield on the snowy ground in Siberia, 37 hours since his arm had been ripped off. Thirty-seven hours later and they were sitting quietly in a modern hospital in Wakanda, waiting for the next test results to get back. 

There wasn’t much to do besides wait, let his body heal, and of course the inevitable, stare at Steve Rogers for as long as possible before he came over here and kissed Bucky again. 

All he could do was watch, watch and not-wait and evaluate because it’d first hit him last night and now he couldn’t stop thinking about it and the longer he watched and not-waited and evaluated and thought, the more sure he was he was right. 

_Whenever you’re ready_. 

It wasn’t him. 

It wasn’t him that wasn’t ready, it was Steve, and that made Bucky want to close his eyes and never open them again. 

All of the not-waiting. 

He’d been waiting seventy years, and nine thousand lifetimes longer, and he was bloody fucking terrible at waiting. 

Waiting was the thing that’d made him into this thing, and he didn’t want to be a thing anymore so he couldn’t do the thing anymore. 

The thing being waiting for Steve. 

 

So Bucky sat on the cold metal table and watched his hands and realized it would be a long time waiting for Steve to be ready. 

He wasn’t now. Steve wasn’t ready for any of this. 

He wasn’t ready for everything Bucky came with. Bucky came with knives and ghosts and screams and Steve just tore about his family and the entire world to pull Bucky out of Romania, what on earth would be tear apart when Bucky fell somewhere so much worse? 

Steve needed time and Bucky was no fucking good at waiting, he wasn’t strong enough to wait that’s what turned one armed screams into the Winter Soldier the first time, he couldn’t do that again. 

Fuck, he didn't even make 24 hours at Steve’s side without caving to his roots and pressing their mouths together. 

The little blonde kid from Brooklyn may have flirted with death, but he’d never even glanced this kind of death in his peripherals, he knew nothing of this. He knew nothing of Bucky’s everything, even if Steve was the everything the nothing was dying to know.

Whenever you’re ready. Bucky was ready, ready for them to surrender and Steve was too wrapped up in his flags to handle Bucky’s quiet, tattered white one. 

It was devastating like nothing had been for centuries, but it was simple. 

Bucky had to disappear until he could be less of a grenade for Steve, and until Steve was ready for the grenade he'd already been. 

Steve was sitting beside him, writing out something in a letter, their shoulders inches apart on the cold metal table, heartbeats synced through Bucky’s only wrist, only lifeline left. Staring at their matching soldier feet clad in simple white socks, dark curtain swinging at the edges of his vision to contradict the crystal cloud white.

The silence was filled only with that beautiful, familiar and long-since forgotten scratch of a pencil that Bucky opened his jaw to snap it in half.

“I think I should go back into cryo.” 

The sound didn’t snap in half, but the pencil balanced precariously in Steve’s unsuspecting fingers did. 

It hit the floor almost as loud as the hurt that suddenly turned to him and Bucky turned away faster than the shocked jaw could open up to snap in half right back. 

Fuck, he was sorry. 

A doctor came in and Steve never found the words he was gonna say. 

 

Forty-one hours after Steve dropped his shield on the frozen ground of Siberia to pick up the love of his life, he stood and stared at the frozen machine he was to drop the love of his life into. 

This wasn’t what he signed up for. 

This wasn’t what he agreed to and there was Bucky, across the room, sitting there in white, an angel on a cold metal table, still tipping without his metallic balance, perfectly quiet and peaceful like this was an okay fucking choice. 

The little blonde kid from Brooklyn may have flirted with death, but he’d never even glanced this kind of death in his peripherals, he knew nothing of this. He knew nothing of Bucky’s everything, even if Bucky was the everything Steve would die to know. 

Minutes. 

He had minutes left to look at Bucky, alive, and Steve was going to die right here with him, today. 

He already had, the minute Bucky said it. 

The moment Bucky turned away when Steve stared at him, horrified, terrified, broken, lost. 

The moment the doctors left again and Steve asked him why and Bucky said you know why and Steve--

He shouldn’t’ve lost himself but he lost himself the minute Bucky wouldn’t look at him anymore. 

He wasn’t fucking stupid. He knew this was for Bucky, but he also knew this was for _him_ and he wanted to scream for that. 

The sharp snap, clattering paper to the floor and bitter, hurt, teary,

“Buck, how could you--” sharp broken inhale. 

How could you _do this_ to me? 

Wasn’t any better. 

Bucky teared up when Steve said it but Steve had the fucking right to say it, and here was Bucky, four hours later, already ready to give in. Without him. 

He’d do fucking anything in his power to get Bucky not to leave him, not like this, but it wasn’t in his power anymore and there was nothing he could do to win when Bucky was just giving _up_. 

If he thought he could change a damn thing, he’d fight. He’d fight so fucking hard, he’d kick and scream and punch and fight the ends of the Earth, but he didn’t even _ask_ because he wouldn’t be able to take Bucky’s _no_. 

The one thing Steve had never fucking said. 

I need you to stay. 

If there was a time to say it, it was now. 

Steve inhaled the last shot of oxygen that belonged to him and slowly strode across the room to the angel on one more table. 

A doctor was rewrapping one of Bucky’s hands, the hands that hadn’t healed yet and Buck had so much emotion stirred up on his beautiful face that Steve could feel it from across the room, the pained resignation as he flexed his fingers in the new bandage and couldn’t lift his eyes. 

The littlest beep as one more machine recorded and that was the last wrap to be redone before he went in and Steve didn’t wait a fucking second before he was walking over. 

Didn’t mean he could look at Bucky though, striding over with a bruised cheekbone and hands in unfamiliar pockets as he passed the upright coffin so eerily similar to his own and managed to rope one more smile out of the bullshit expanse he’d built over tours and tears. 

Tried as fucking hard as he could be, much of a best friend, fellow soldier tone, stance, oxygen as he could but that didn’t mean he could do this. Bucky couldn’t do this. 

_This_. 

“You sure about this?” Steve asked, before he’d even stopped walking all the way but if he didn’t freeze himself here, keep his voice that fucking professional he was gonna collide all the way to Bucky’s skin and wrap himself around those bones with all the ferocity he’d fought for them with and never ever let go. 

Which wouldn’t’ve been a bad thing, he wouldn’t’ve hesitated over it if this were the war, but this wasn’t. 

Steve had no fucking right. Not after everyone had wrapped Bucky’s bones for decades. 

If Steve touched him, Steve would be no fucking better than them because he wouldn’t be able to fucking let go. 

There were three cuts across the bridge of Bucky’s nose, a furrow between his eyebrows as he glanced at Steve and looked away, like he was really trying to find the simplest, easiest way to put this like Steve hadn’t done everything in his fucking power to debunk the useless logic of every piece of it and. 

“I can’t trust my own mind,” Bucky told him and Steve would’ve broken down if it hadn’t been followed by that look, but it was. 

Bucky looked up at him with tired, plunging eyes and Steve was sinking into the ground as his best friend, the kid trying to tough it through not enough food too many bruises I’m fine Stevie, I need to be fine gave him the only thing in the entire world that could break his heart more than it was right now. 

That beautiful, world-forgotten Bucky Barnes smile. 

For just a moment, their eyes met and the worry radiating through Steve’s every pore wasn’t enough to mask _Steve_ , and Bucky looked up and saw Steve and that _smile_. 

By god, it was brief, it was beautiful and sincere and tired and then inhale. 

Inhale, body waking right back up and it was gone, as the natural reaction to _Steve_ overruled again by the world, by the words that he’d just spoken and that wasn’t anything to smile after, so it sunk and Bucky sunk, eyes tearing away to stare dully ahead as honest mouth fell, Steve’s feet under him with the words to tumble. 

“So until they figure out how to get this stuff outta my head, I think goin’ back under’s the best thing.” 

All one long stretch of strung together words, just the slightest hint of an accent through the gravel from a voice unaccustomed to speaking, a voice kept quiet when it wasn’t silent, a voice trying not to break the bubble of noise, a voice even deeper than Steve remembered, a voice so hoarse and broken from the threads of being beaten and through all that, it sounded exactly fucking like Bucky Barnes, the real honest-to-god rough gravel dust of the voice he’d heard in dreams, like watching something drawn on 2D paper for years suddenly pulled out of the graphite and shaped into a three-dimensional colorful _presence_ that could throw shadows around the room all of it’s own accord. 

At some point in the single sentence to ruin him, Steve stopped being able to look at Bucky and he hated his eyes for staring at the white cloth stretched over Buck’s invisible stomach but he couldn’t look at all the shadows over those eyes, he’d drown in the fucking shadows over his eyes. 

All he could do was nod. 

Bucky’s eyes were so heavy on his head he could feel the string, the string bobbing his head up and down as Buck drew his agreement out of him like wringing a desert-dry rag for one more drop of water that wasn’t there but squeezed out to drip one more time anyways. 

The dead stare wasn’t ahead anymore, Buck was looking solid and serious and unabashed at his face, daring Steve to look back and fuck, Steve used to think he was the king of dares and now he’d rather lose a thousand times, a thousand lives before he had to face that truth. 

But he was pinned and the string tugged one more time, the flick up of rotted blue irises under the veil of lashes that weren’t doing a damn thing to save him now - _I think goin’ back under’s the best thing_ \- as Bucky lifted his head to look straight at him, straight through him, and said exactly the words Steve’d never ever ever wanted to hear. 

“For everybody.” 

Bullets ripped from shoulderblades in a rush so dizzying he could puke as the corner of Buck’s mouth tipped up, a crooked smile, the crooked smile, falling right back to barely parted lips as the rest of the room tugged crystal eyes back off him, drifting into the impossible places under the scuffed cheek, the stitched hairline, everything Steve would never get to see now because Bucky was doing this for him. 

Maybe not all for him, but Steve was _everybody_ , and Bucky thought this was the best thing for everybody and Steve wanted to lay flat spread-eagle American on his back on the softest bed in the world and sink to the middle of the earth as he suffocated in all the white that somehow found a way to choke him when his fingertips couldn’t even touch it. 

 

Couldn't even touch him. 

The table, the floor, Bucky seemed hurt as Steve made the doctors help him into the chamber but Steve couldn't touch him. 

Steve couldn't touch him, because Steve would take him. 

His lungs were pounding so fast in his chest they were squeezing the heart trying to inhale and his entire chest was a giant block of squeezing ice he didn't bother trying to breathe with, he'd be fine if he never breathed again, the last fucking thing Bucky asked of him and Steve couldn't even do it. 

They were parting, again, with Bucky hurt and it was Steve's fault but he couldn't. Touch. Him. 

It wasn't like he didn't know. It wasn't like Bucky's silence said it louder than his words ever could have. 

Steve wanted to _scream_ it at his stupid face.

How _could_ you, how could you put yourself back into cryo to force me to stop being reckless and not become a criminal just to keep you?

If he knew it, god knows Bucky knew it. 

Bucky knew everything and Steve had never gone through hell like this.

He was ruining everything, he needed to be there for Bucky, needed to reach out for himself, before he drifted off so far he wasn't on the fucking planet anymore but he couldn't, he couldn't do anything but search those crystal eyes for forgiveness. 

Search and search and the doctors were doing everything they could to stay out of Steve's line of sight as they strapped Bucky's chest in.

The closest, the very closest he came to losing it, fingers twitching to curl into a fist, was when they strapped Bucky's chest in and he flinched, just slightly, terror over his features shutting down instantly into numbness, so fast the doctors might not have seen it but Steve did and he came so very very close to losing it. 

Fist. But he didn't. 

The moment he was secure everyone dissipated, fog in the morning sunrise as Steve searched crystal. He searched and he begged with his eyes, every promise he'd never said, every one he'd broken that he could still feel the shards of rattling around in his empty stomach. 

Begged with blue, the only thing he had left, but it didn't matter.

 

 

Bucky wasn’t looking at him as the glass door slid up, with that quiet mechanic sound.

Bucky wasn’t looking at him as the glass door slid shut, with that solid sealing sound.

Bucky wasn’t looking at him, Bucky was looking at the sky, the sky he knew was blue as the boy beside him as his eyes finally slid shut and he inhaled, cold seeping into his lungs.

He wanted to scream, to kick and to run and to break free and to call out to Steve, the way he had every time they shoved the cold into his lungs for the first 12 years, to cry and to crack because this time if he did, he would be let free and he would be saved and it would be enough to override the tens of thousands of times he hadn’t been, he wanted to beg for his life, beg for his love, beg to be set free the way only that boy ever knew how.

He didn’t move a muscle.

The door slid shut and Bucky closed his eyes and six feet away instead of under, Rogers stood colder than Barnes was.

 

It was the end of February and it was so cold even Bucky’s hands on his chest this morning hadn’t warmed him up. So cold even the flush glancing over Buck’s way as he thought about this morning wasn’t enough to make his cheeks redder than his nose. 

The blessed air in front of Bucky’s parted lips kept painting white with fog and Steve was an elastic band stretched too far, snapping back to Bucky’s side the moment they reached the mountaintop, his skin begging to be painted foggy with those precious, near-blue lips. 

The only thing really blue between them were their uniforms and for as many times as he’d ripped that coat off Bucky’s body, he’d never been so grateful for the thick navy material in his life. 

It was fucking freezing up here, but somehow the - 20 felt a little more bearable when he shrunk inches from the feet between his shoulders and the ones he knew were littered with bruises and bites from his mouth under all those layers of blue. 

“Remember when I made you ride the Cyclone on Coney Island?” Bucky asked, all wistful and beautiful as his hair whipped in the wind and Steve looked out off the edge of the cliff, remembering the burn of Bucky’s hand on his spine as he puked in the grass, the giggling laughter in their bed that night as Bucky rolled Steve over quick enough to make him queasy again and Buck was nothing but warm, bubbling apologies as he kissed all the way from Steve’s stomach up to his mouth until Steve was only feeling sick for the heat of those kisses. 

“Yeah, and I threw up?” He offered instead, face all twisted up and he could feel the crystal smile crossing over his shoulder, another beam of physical warmth sinking into the side of his neck warmer than those same lips did. 

“This isn’t payback, is it?” Buck was teasing, all sweet and lilting with that little squint, the same one he gave Steve from across the room last week, running around looking for his shirt before he froze and realized Steve had thrown it outside in the cold, peered back at all the bruises covering Steve’s chest and neck and the popped button on his pants he was gonna have to sew _again_ and said,

 _This isn’t payback, is it?_

Steve had smiled full wide with his teeth and Bucky had groaned and thrown on Steve’s uniform instead before he went out to adventure in the snow for his shirt and of course, just his luck, the Commandos were outside and all did double-takes at the familiar red white and blue, white star arching across Bucky’s chest but it was the closest warm thing, dammit. 

_Oooo, Sarge, you guys aren’t into roleplay now, are you--_

Bucky had come back with his frozen shirt so red in the face Steve had laughed until he had a stitch in his side and Bucky had whined and moaned and complained until Steve laid him back out on the frozen ground and made him moan for a dozen other reasons. 

"Now why would I do that?" Steve shot back and the little shake of Bucky’s head was more affection and fondness than reminiscence on last week, otherwise Steve was pretty sure it’d be shivers instead. 

The walk up this mountain had been cold enough for them to shiver the whole time regardless, and not the fun kind either. 

But Bucky was here at his side, and that would always make the cold bearable. 

Just the warmth of the heartbeat a foot from his was enough to keep the fire inside Steve’s chest alive, the heat of living, breathing, so full of fight and purpose because there was Bucky, his other half of life, giving him that solemn nod before they slid down a wire onto the train racing through the mountainside. 

Bucky was here at his side, and that would always make the cold bearable. 

Until Bucky wasn’t at his side anymore. 

Bucky was hanging from the side of the train as the scream caught in Steve’s throat only held as he reached and reached, begging for Bucky to hold on. 

Then Bucky wasn’t hanging onto the side of the train anymore, Bucky was falling through the wind and snow to the frozen cold below and Steve’s red gloves had frozen to the metal bars he couldn’t stop holding onto even if he tried, the metal bar tumbling down over Bucky’s reaching screams and Steve tried. 

The gloves held, instinct held, but Bucky fell for the freezing snow in the whipping freezing wind to the splashing freezing river below to float amongst the ice and death while Steve clung to the side of the train, colder than he was. 

While Steve stood in an empty lab staring at the frozen glass with no outreached hand, colder than the falling boy was. 

 

The Wakandan doctors were bustling around him, white coats checking vitals and wheeling tables and calculating scientific equations and staring at the soldier who hadn't twitched, hadn’t moved so much as broad shoulders expanding to breathe.

Bucky wasn't moving, so Steve wasn't moving.

It’d almost be funny, in any other situation. If he’d still had the fucking ability to speak, in the past four and a half hours since Bucky said he was going back under, he might’ve asked Buck what he always did when he went away for too long. 

Years ago, Brooklyn, laying stretched out on his bed with graphite staining his fingers and the side of his hands as he hung his head off the edge of his bed, blonde flopping for the floor as he pouted upside down at Bucky, hopping into his pants on the other side of the room. 

“You’re workin’ a whole _thirty-six_ hours. What’m I s’pos’d to do while you’re gone?” It was a little whiny at the end, but they’d woken up too late to have morning sex, not to mention they hadn’t actually gotten to sleep together for the past week and he’d been counting on spending the weekend with Buck and it just wasn’t _fair_

“I dunno,” Bucky shot back, wrestling on his belt and a tad out of breath as he tried to huffily flip the ungelled hair out of his eyes. “Whaddu you normally do when I’m gone?”

“...wait for you to come back,” Steve muttered under his breath and Bucky’s disheveled head popped out of a t-shirt with a furrow between his dark eyebrows. 

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” Steve lied and Bucky shrugged on a button-up, not bothering to straighten it even a little before he was snagging his shoes and sweeping back across the room to press a quick kiss to Steve’s pouty mouth then the bedroom door was swinging open and Steve sighed loud enough that Bucky had to have heard it, even as he was swinging open the door to the hallway. 

“I’ll see you Sunday evening!” He called over his shoulder and Steve groaned, rolling over onto his stomach to keep his face smushed pissily in the pillow, breathing in the warmth and encompassing smell Bucky’d left behind until he fell asleep again to dreams of weekends they didn’t get to have. 

T’Challa had given them a bedroom, had offered two and graciously amended it to one at Steve’s blush without so much a side glance, but that wasn’t _their_ room. 

Odds were, the pillow didn’t even smell like Buck. 

Buck didn’t smell like Buck, he smelled like blood and dirt and sterilized hospitals and snow and so so so much cold, but here Steve still was. 

What was he supposed to do while Bucky was gone? 

Apparently what he always did. 

Wait for Bucky to come back. 

Because Bucky was gone now. One moment he was smiling at Steve on that table, that metal table right there and thirty seconds later, crystal eyes were closed and he was ice. 

All Steve had left was ice. 

 

 

In the plane, it hadn’t gone as quickly.

Eventually, Steve passed out from the pain and the cold, and that’s when he froze over in the raw, bitter viciousness of nature’s ice so fucking far from the synthetic chill they were strapping into Bucky’s skin.

In the plane, it hadn’t gone as quickly and there had been a lot of voices in his head, a lot of guiding words, his mother, his best friend, his fucking pastor from fourth grade that screamed about hell and condemnation of the sinners who dare take their lives.

In the plane it hadn’t gone as quickly, but even if watching Buck go under took as long as it’d taken Steve, he was pretty sure the voice in his head would still have been the only one.

Funny, for all the guiding remembrance, for all the words he’d held on to throughout his life, for all the mantras and speeches and promises he’d made and given and received, the only words that were going through his mind right now were words he’d just heard once.

Steve stared at the chamber as the glass frosted up with the same ice they used to break off their windowpane in Brooklyn and he only heard one thing in his head as he watched Bucky slip beneath the surface, broken surface of their makeshift shoddy ice-skating rink as the cold went from laughing bursts of air to that terrifying, terrible splash.

Only felt one thing pulsing through his veins and Steve couldn’t breathe as he pummeled frozen tiny fists on the thin ice closed over his head, but he could hear those words. That voice.

“Allow Barnes the dignity of his choice.”

The dignity of his choice.

That was the only fucking thing he could hear. Allow Bucky fucking Barnes the motherfucking dignity of his goddamn fucking choice.

Peggy, if only you could see him now.

If only, you could see them now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise, I have wonderful, incredible crazy sex scenes planned for this fic and they're surprisingly not as far out as you'd think. Actually, the little arc I have for this story isn't that far out either, I have a feeling I'll finish this before VD, just length wise. 
> 
> Anyways. Thank you all for bearing with me through the sad parts. I couldn't actually make this anything but, I'm sorry, all I know is pain apparently.
> 
> Ily all so much, I hope you keep reading!
> 
> xx


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